I walk down the beach,
I look as though time has done me well,
But it has not,
The sand sinks as I walk upon it,
leaving foot prints to be washed away,
by the ever changing tide,
I realize I have not left enough marks,
on the cement.

cement is hard to mark.

It takes years upon years,
to even create a crack,
only to get stomped on,
again and again,
unnoticed.

I reach down to find a seashell in the sand,
such beauty amongst the grain,
yet hidden under nothingness,
masked by the sun,
and tumbled in the water,
whisked away,
to be lost at sea.

I remember when my heart had passion,
and I could do more than stumble down a beach,
when I could stand up,
when I could speak out,
my voice not lost,
joined together with those who also believed they could make a difference,
that they could be the stone found on the beach,
made into a necklace,
that commanded attention everywhere it went.

I approach a young boy,
he looked sad,
When I asked what troubled his mind,
He said he skipped a rock,
3 skips,
3 skips and it was gone forever,
"No!" I replied,
keep skipping the rock I told him,
Keep making ripples and one day the ocean will roar for you.