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The small invasion of gentle waves,
Encroaching onto the dry trodden sands,
Whispering an unstoppable assault,
Of the moon-led tide.

As the waters destroy the mark of man,
Upon the sands,
It creates again a new blank canvas,
Waiting the new artist marks,
Applied by,
     chasing dogs,
     squealing children,
And,
     A greyed couple,
Walking towards one more,
Horizon dipping sun.
Maria Jul 21
The evening is quiet, clear and fresh.
I’m walking along the shore.
I’m wearing only few clothes now,
Only your shirt and nothing more.

I’m stepping onto the damp, warm sand.
How pleasant its touch is!
I’m not in a hurry. I want to inhale
The waning of this aloof day’s breeze.

We wandered here with you beforetime,
Holding hands, breathing in time.
Love and peace were around us.
But then all went wrong, not in rhyme.

Now I’m walking along the shore.
I’m walking alone, delighting in sunset.
I’m gulping my tears and walking straight.
That must be the way it has to be instead.
Thank you for reading this poem! 💖🙏
Lee Jul 20
I don’t know the ocean
And she doesn’t know me
Surely she remembers more
But I’m a mountains and trees girl
Patience is key
Written on the balcony of the condo we rented for the week
Sophie Chen Jul 18
For all the Heavens know,
You could be angel born
Or
Hell depths
******.
Don’t grieve for lost moments
-the seas will always
return to reach the
sand.
For a friend
Gugzang Jul 2
Fate always finds ways to leave you scarred,
But please stick with it.
Because somewhere you can't see,
Someone crosses the sea of time just to embrace your sensitive heart.

Just to have a single glimpse of you,
To strike a normal meet w you.
Or
Maybe it's not just them,
It's you
Waiting endlessly
Someone to search,
To reach out.

'One to look back upon the sand castles that
're left w noone in them.
As if,
Even the castles are longing for someone to remember them.

But eventually,
They would end up scattering,
Since most bury their euphoric remembrances just to remember the melancholy.

Albeit,
the sand castles' span depends upon the
native's mind;
Alas, the latter always tends to remember the tornados...
Completing defying the 'work for which he preserved so hard,
For the one who destroyed his castle?

But
Once
The native realises that it's not the tornado, it's the sand
From which the castle can be made
A thousand times
Only If he remembers to cherish
The things meant for him to cherish,
He will be truly liberated.

BUT
What if,
he wants to be stuck in his melancholic waves of tornado?
Then,
He will eventually become a slave
Of those melancholic waves,
Would be scared to defy Mob,
be anxious of past decisions,
frightened to Even live.
Or
Maybe he would suffocate in those giant waves ultimately leading his last moments
Just for him to remember-
The sand that once his hands' contained
Was now fleeting from his hands
Forever-
Or maybe that was the sand's fate.
        
                                -d'chu.
As if even the castles are longing for someone to remember them:/
Anon Jun 30
I feel like time is slipping
 through my fingers
     like a silk sheet,  
  Going and

  going

   and

                            
   going
   until eventually
    it will all be gone.
    The final grain of sand
    dropped into the hourglass.
Anais Vionet Jul 1
What’s wrong with me? I’ve been asking myself this all week.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I weigh questions coldly and logically. Then it hit to me.. it’s summer, silly, and I'm in classes!

A typical summer would find me tanned, sunburned, greased and unkempt, like a happy, sandy, beach hobo, my hair would be either braided or left fly-about to tangle into cotton candy wads.

My bf Peter’s learned to like fine restaurants (You’re welcome). I’d have never left the beach on my own.
“They can bring us anything,” I’d argue, looking up pitiably from my shaded, Tropitone lounge chair.

Around sundown, Peter would have to catch me, slippery oiled and brown, to comb me out and scrub me before dinner.
“Get dressed!” he’d encourage, picking out a dress suitable for dining or casino wear - “I made us a reservation.”

I’d come out of the hotel en-suite in one of their fluffy, Versace, terry towels but invariably, before I was even dry,  Peter would shake his head, growl and say, “Com-mere,” holding his arms out a little, palms up
(he’s never been very verbose), and smirking a little, I would, because his expression reminded me of Christmas.
“What about our reservation?” I’d chuckle.

This was, of course, a volunteer situation, where it was up to us all to do our best.
.
.
Songs for thus:
Girls On the Beach by Carter Cathcart
Wouldn't It Be Nice by Papa Doo Run Run
Please Let Me Wonder by Carter Cathcart
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 07/01/25:
Verbose = using too many words to convey a point.
Ylzm Jun 8
Without certainty you cannot begin
Foundations always moving are not
For on such you can never build
But only to be moved and carried
Endlessly without rest always changed
Discarding the old attempting the new
But waste and futility, no mastery nor success
What knowledge gleaned very soon irrelevant
Here today, everything's changed tomorrow
Always a toddler, crippled for life
To stand for a while the pinnacle
To walk or run, foolishness, for falls
And you break, never crawling again
But for grace the sand steady as a rock
That you may know sand shift in winds
And to search for rock before you build
But not boast the death of certainty
witch Mar 24
all memories like wilted orchid
and i smelled the earth
i remember four quarrelsome stars
slipping beneath my fabric
how i miss them on winding night

belonging is worship
now i became god
and i'm not satisfied
until you give
contentment escapes

and like a god i am,
creating and creating endless ashes
tasting like burnt date
and keep asking to myself
is god ever satisfied?

mother on sand
mother on my hand
mother slips now
like an escaping memory
while sparkling more than ever
urging me to worship.
If you'll come with me,
I can bring you to the sea,
Show you the waves as they dance to the sand,
Wander through the dunes,
Winding like the winds in beach birch branches,
We can live like they do on TV,
Swear our hearts to each other,
Like I got down on my one knee.
I can vividly imagine a life with her, right up to my final breath.
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