The Beach copyright Sue1994

Tanned feet wander along pinkish coral sand
footprints washed away on the changing tide
as the palm trees bow on the cooling breeze
praying to gods of whom we know nothing.

The sun beams down with remorseless glee
turqouise, everchanging sea shimmers in its glare
walk, dream, think; azure dreams of I, myself and me
- will I ever come back again?
If I return, will I too have changed?

I cannot speak, I meditate,
ignoring other people that I see.
The beach rests quietly now.
Am I really here or is this an illusion?
Wishful thinking, an island, a break
from the mundane mainland of life.

My footprints, reassuring, they are a reality
reaffirming my existence, I can see them
shapes of little feet firmly printed on the shore
but no, waves sweep in, they're gone,
can I be so easily washed away?
That surely was an illusory proof -
if they can't exist, neither do I.

The ocean thinks not, nor does it care
for these petty humans worshipping its infinity
carelessly treading on its shore
believe in some greater plan,
a different place, a different time,
for my reality is no more.