The Beach



Windswept shores,
are shorn by seas,
that clip and crop the currents,
of reluctance with ease.

The Child used to shimmer here,
reflections still are seen,
echoic entities of what was,
and what has been.
(The Beach beyond the barren lands)

Imprinted within the sands,
alongside footsteps of delight,
embossed in single grains,
are impressions of entrite.

(The Beach a vacant void once a verve of vitality)


Yet still the waters wash,
with wakes of wishful woe,
and tides that toss and turn,
wait for The Child to follow.

Beyond The Beach a vista,
a beauty to behold,
blocked out by walls of age,
that arise as The Child grows old.

The Child wants to visit,
to see views that he once had,
now locked away in The Box,
along with all that's bad.

The Beach beyond The Field,
beyond The Keeper of The Box,
is filled with dunes of dreams,
that safe-keep the keys to locks.


Tides turn
Children learn
The time is now
It's your turn...

Take The Beach... to The Box.

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3rd in the series. Once again: Image author unknown, formatting lost, comments/criticism welcome.

I remain a fan of your poetic expression keep them flowing