Ruminating among gelatin vibes of yesterday, rises the feeling, provided by sandy, sometimes frigid moments we tend to call the beach; its been you and your partial causes all along.
A caravan of thorough horses running through our youth
Screaming with a clairvoyant character, beholding our old age, at the behest of a sunday morning wave
It's everything and not in a world full of half nots and half wits
Inviting and daunting-life's pure altercation should always be ridden
Its Mysteriously beautiful-the ultimate axion of attraction
Though, not a spouse
Nor an ill-driven cousin
or fallacy filled forgotten past
Its this edge of water protest that rules our world, with all of its wonderment,- yet we remain blank in our search for true living
Maybe its the froth that hugs the sand
Or Cracken winds that sway with gregarious hands
Maybe its the waves, pounding their first, full of celestial pride
Or jetties- acting out, always sticking out- providing young men the bond they hold forever- rum drinking, young optimistic talk, and moist lip fever
Or perhaps its that practical religious feeling, absent of any disciplined god, we get…from staring straight out into its blue waters- A five minute reprieve
As if were staring into the soul of our brethren, dead or ferociously alive
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