top of page
Search

The Beach

The beach drifts as footprints sink into crisp moulds;

heavy boots gone before.

With water receding we walk to white windy mills -

turning three strong arms in autumn breeze;


regimented in rows, waving cheerful circles to land,

marked by rust and raw decay;

steel stately, once satisfying, dismantling the decent past;

rotting skeletons leaning, nodding, bowing to the future.


Between two worlds we strode, in the reflection of what was,

fading into a new rhythm of now.

Scouring through golden grains, flicking washed rocks and sunken shells,

heads bowed, eyes squinting;


... thoughts suspending in the confusion of today.

39 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page