Beach

BEACH

I lay alone on wet sand.
Ripples of waves of the vast sea seep through my back,
like meek consciousness ooze across the vacancy of the mind.
I watch the bleeding red sky bleed even more until it can bleed no more,
like the bittersweet loss from swelling veins.
Biting wind whispers voices to my ears,
like long distant cries neglected … left in vast nowhere.

I am not alone in writing these verses.
I am not alone in these darkened thoughts.
I am not alone when I reminisce about immortal loss left in the currents of the sea.
I am not alone when I grab those restless exigencies flowing like the bloody sky.
I am not alone when I feel human malaise embracing my acuity as the breeze touches me.

People are people.
Strangers are strangers.
Like the vast open beach where we bathe, where we laugh, where we gather …
Like the orange ball of fire ceases to look at us …
Like the huge tides of sea that reminds us of our vulnerabilities …
Like the grasping breeze holds us like babies …
Like the sands of time makes a cliché …
We shed our perpetual dreams.
We dismiss our unending reasons.
We look at the immense unknown.

I lay on the sand.
I can feel no more.

- Madeline Anne I. Sta. Cruz