Once More the Virgin Sand

Once more the virgin sand on the dawn fresh golden shore
Awashed of the scars of yester days.

Gone the footprints of the the solemn man
Destitute in search of relief from hunger, shelter from the elements.
Burnt is his feet bare on the barren.
Cold is his heart - remnants from the ravishing times; from indifferent voices; from the merciless stabs of society.

Gone the sand-castle hand crafted by the child, who came from his home inland afar,
Hypnotised by his first vision of the ocean, and a whiff of its unique aqua-marine scent.
Sooth by the moving blue;
Chuckling to the rolling water;
Bubbling with life was she.

Gone the note dropped by the woman, the mother, the house-wife.
The note with the list of the groceries to get, children to collect, laundry to finish.
Too rushed to hear the waves beckoning her name;
So engrossed that the sea breeze embraced in vain;
Can't stop. Must go. No time to ponder.

Gone the empty beer cans thrown by the graduating teens, drunk in celebration of the vanishing classrooms,
Overwhelmed by the ecstacy of the emphemeral now,
Yet apprehensive in anticipation of the awaiting then.

Gone the scratchings of the bird sung by poets,
The he-bird seeking the she-bird.
He stood on the water washing onto the beach, perpetually washing onto the sand.
I can hear his cries. I know of his words. I can see his sorrow, as he before me have.

Lost, all lost.
Lost to the uncaring sea.
The lapping waves consumes all of yester days, yet remember none.
And what was a canvas with a labyrith of tales, is virgin sand once more.