Monday, August 31, 2015

The Beach.

The sea is bright and calm.
I walk out on the dusty beach.
It is so far, I cannot reach-
but the night is cool and warm.
I am safe from harm.
Here the air smells of salty spray,
the beach is in disarray.
Here we come, walking along,
cooler than the coolest dawn.
Merchants call us from the streets,
they are not strong; yet, they are weak.
I try to speak gently in the good night air,
all the dolphins do is stare.
Here are the fish, I throw them back in,
life is gone; it will not come in.

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