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Suicide Andrew Shiston I stand atop Pulpit Rock, below me the sea The caves of limestone; vibrating drums Crashing waves of sound in symphony Taught seaweed old and brown above the tide Whistling with the wind; the strings of a violin Shingle moving with the tide; applause As the waves come marching in; A squall; a sudden shower of heavy rain Dropping the curtain across Pulpit Rock The surging tide lifts; music once again; Crashing of the cymbals; a thunderclap Of sound that fills the sky Flashing lightening spotlights the maestro As the symphonies crescendo passes by Pulpit Rock; where the symphony died.

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