write not to me in prose
write not at all
for the words will fall
upon deaf eyes
the fragile blue
no longer existant
in pools or waves
for all that remains
is sand
the dry desert i created
for my empty cadence
that hangs poignantly in the wind
too soft for the wild predators
who once tracked the sounds
of tormented seas
red and crashing
into the boulders on shore
until they faded
until they too became sand
and the heat of green fire
selfishly lapped up each remaining ounce
until all life was foresaken

dead, dead, dead
the sea is dead!

the tendrils of salted sea greens
long forgotten
the coral and the budding life
now dry
frozen in the sand
and yet there is still hope for rain
where once again
the sea can pull me in