It isn't anything at all, is it? (Just some half-assed poetry)
The waves sing a song of tears shed beneath their watery tips
Crashing to shore they attempt to shout with tightly tied lips
The wind, pushes them
Punishes them
Caresses them
as they dance to the music of love and lust
(Sensual in the most teasing way)
They draw the sounds of pleasure, a hollow echo along the beach
sending wildlife searching for cover.
They whisper all of their desires
crashing later against seas-side homes like a scorned lover.
The boards creak beneath little feet learning to run
they strike with wood slivers and bruised knee caps.
They too creak and moan with the force of the wind.
Witnessing the break-ups and make-ups.
The gulls lift themselves up on currents of air
more noise yet added to the sounds of children playing in the sand.
The sun sinks and they spirit themselves away to their lairs
The tides come in and pull castles off of the land
and the salty taste of the air tells stories of pirates.
I am here, can you hear me?
I can't above all of this clamour and clatter
that the world has to offer.
Are we not alone here?
No, we are never alone
(and that is the reason why I cannot be heard)
(Or could it be simply that I am so alone that you can't comprehend what I am saying?)