The Beach

The sea is ever changing,
Schizophrenic with rage and tranquillity,
Caressing the beach one moment and pounding it the next,
The groping hands grasp the formless sands. 

I look out across the oscillating waves towards the blurred horizon,
As I have done many a time.
That clinging stretch of sand a welcoming sight,
An interface between the earth and ocean.
Salty air surrounds and embraces me,
Familiar sounds tipped with nostalgia fill my ears,
Traversing down the grassy mound towards the water. 

The sea always different; sometimes strong, sometimes timid,
But a grandiose behemoth always,
A never-ending medium. 

I frequently voyage up and down the sandy beach,
Following my own freshly laid footsteps,
A place to remember and to forget.
One side of me resides drudgery and anxiety,
But seawards, there wafts in an indeterminable freedom,
As if I could lift my wings against the incoming
breeze and transcend above problems. 

I lie down on the golden blanket,
Sand shifts to meet the contours of my body,
Enjoying the feeling against me; soothing, relieving.
I repeatedly go back to the beach.