Mu quill smacks at me

My quill smacks at me

Those white, splashy, frothy, surging waters
like battalions with iron-willed prowess,
dash against the seemingly timeless
Craggy rocks undiluted, firm and unshaken,
Rocky stones not yet corroded,
as if in a mood of defiance,
like a sage in penance.
I see the receding waters,
Now the roaring is gone
As in an aged lion, the valour is dead,

By the beach, my mood wanes,
My fingers criss-cross on the sands,
the pen which I throw in a fit of fury,
mocks at , the tiny bold bird
flaps its wings, back to me.