Between a River and an Ocean.
The gosling gawks, the seagull sulks,
and my hair is sandy sprayed.
My feet are cut,
my fingers too,
and my body's salted skin.
Shards of seaglass adorn my crown,
it's my own, made from what I've found,
in dunes, holes, and otherwise in the ground, see,
these pretty things are living, cause,
in the sand,
time doesn't turn, the suns don't burn at all,
and purified by rock,
the sparks of jewel remain throughout,
x-marked, maybe not,
but they exist and they persist past all the years
in the ocean's salty spears.
The torch ignites up in the sky,
and all around people die like flies,
fall from their perches,
but me I'll never fail,
I'll never fall,
cause in the beach's sand I burrow and ignoring the sudden sorrow of my race,
I am alive, and I am well,
a secret kept in the folds,
immortalized,
and though in Heaven and in Hell, my fellows are,
I find my home,
not in the cove, not in the grove,
nor in the valley or the wood,
but in the dune and in the pit,
in the sand, is where it is, my heart,
my mind,
my semblance mummified, unmodified by life.
But, when my epitaph was writ in sand,
the wind always blew it away
by the midnight hour of the day.
Now even though my bod sometime reposes
none know I linger in the seaside,
for the waves keep knocking down my name
whene'er the tides come to claim the shore,
and any travelers passing by
will scan right through me to where the letters were,
and I, unnamed, become unseen,
and so obscene, a nameless man,
I am forgotten.
I'll pay that price to live.
