the sand is rich and dark-- lovely to look at, but disgustingly cold and sticky to the touch
the waves are frothy and harsh and you can tell by the slap of water upon water that they would sting if you waded in
one lone gull circles overhead, stark against the impenetrable grey that is the sky

you leave footprints along the damp ground, dancing just out of reach of the unforgiving sea
and the fog rolls in when you blink.
however,
there is no lighthouse
for sailors lost
on this shore.