This coast is never hushed.
Constant roaring of waring white warhorses of water foam and salt,
Battled wary beasts charge with an angry determined assault,
Bashing sand with powerful turbine legs and mane thrashing about,
Crashing head-on upon the awaiting combatants that they bout.
Explosions all along the shore dissolve into peace…
One fight lost for now but still the war won’t cease.
A sea spray haze like a sacked village smokes above the fight,
Sucked up and tossed about than carried off by the fleeing light,
This organic machine screams in unholy terror, and fierce motion,
Then seems to soften as I walk by and once again becomes the ocean.
Just wave after wave of soft pillow billow,
Shaping everything from land to shells churning like wool willow,
I breathe deeper here then I have ever done before,
I am surprised how the roar muffles when the wave hits the shore.
At a depth the mind stops the sound as they bore.
Speechless and my insides still, as though my soul is frozen,
And above brewed a storm that had cooked all day upon the horizon,
My chest was one with the sea and now rose with each surging swell,
And all I see as I search the battle tainted sands for a perfect shell.
At no time in hell did I contemplated that I was the perfect shell.
