Pale White beaches


The sift of albino sand beneath his feet,
Chills toes in shoes and force sandals to haste retreat.
Insidious, they stuff themselves into every crevice.

He stares at the ocean and wonders
If his arms will ever hold more than silence,
If he will hear -something- aside from emptiness.

The crash of waves envelop him
He wishes he can cuddle the wind
Or ascribe possession to the shifting sands.

The stars wink from a vast universe
Sometimes friendly, more often mocking
From their superior lofty perch.

He falls to his knees in the surf
The icy embrace of the fluid eraser
It would sweep even him away if it could.

It slices through murmur of the beach
A savage howl, an awful rending
The piercing despair of anguished trending

His fingers stab into the resisting clay
Futile efforts that the sea washes away
Screams of fury and pain are swallowed beneath the torturous decay.

They never said it would be this bad
That the hole would gape and consume every moment laid
With solemn, singular portent.

With vigorous scrubs, the sand churns
Matted strands of hair as it twists and turns
Eyes so dark, never seemed so soulless.

“I get it now…” he whispers, as the water pours
Down his chin. “I finally understand why
No man was meant to be (alone)…”


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