The Mermaid

She sat gazing longingly.
Cast static, like a statue of bronze.
Staring.
Waiting.
Assessing the flecks liberally littering the shore
and the speckled, freckled stars
in the night sky's vacuous pitch.
And she saw,
they were similar.
A vast expanse, graceful and free.
And she longed to return.
To one or the other.
Staring.
Waiting.
Her rocky pedestal was no throne,
for she dreamed to return and be Queen
of the freeing cacophonous crash
of wet watery wave on stoic rock.
Staring.
Waiting.
Waiting to be free.
Waiting to be home.