every eve when the twilight strikes the moon
water rushes through the brilliant beaches
filled with life and treasure
each night a new high tide
a new Wave of mystery meets the beach
foreign but oddly familiar
the Wave creeps in
slowly but surely
going farther and farther
seemingly opening up with every charge
rushing over the sand and then receding within view
the beach is completely at the mercy of the Wave
the peaceful cycle of crest serves better
than the days of draining people
walking all over its terrain
leaving their mark
while bringing nothing
the Wave can for a short time be better
carrying seventy percept of our world with every joust
gliding smoothly other the beach so its grains are realigned
pushing the limits of where the beach thought water could be felt
finding itself no longer pining for a pinch of solitude
But then things begin to change
Nothing seems the same
Except sometimes there is even a lasting glimmer
Desperation then ascends to its apex
And the added weight of need erases the
Hope gets lost eventually
the Wave never lasts
by definition
high tide breaks my mind
sends shells seeking safety
laid bare by the one who touched tenderly
the irony does not escape
the shore as the sun summits
lighter to the world
heavier to its earth
all the while no one knows
wherefore art thou beach
except the Wave
the ones
that isn’t coming back
its reminiscence crawling
behind a shoreline of reality
a fallen trunk in a foresaken watery forrest

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On the fleeting nature of love and infatuation