Seaside Peace

The clock has lost its rhythmic click, its gears dissolved in salt,

As the frantic pace of living comes to a grinding, sudden halt.

I am walking where the wet sand meets the lace of dying foam,

In the borderland of nowhere that feels strangely like a home.

The gulls are silver stitches in a gray and moving shroud,

And my thoughts are drifting aimlessly, like a stray and lonely cloud.

​I’ve forgotten what the morning brought, or what the night will hold,

As the sun bleeds out in ribbons of a pale and watery gold.

Each step I take is swallowed by the rising of the tide,

Erasing every footprint and the place where I might hide.

The roar of the Pacific is a choir in my ears,

Drowning out the static of the weary, weighted years.

​The world is just a smudge of blue, a blur of mist and spray,

As I lose the map of hours and the compass of the day.

I am not a name or title, not a worker or a ghost,

But a piece of driftwood lingering along a jagged coast.

Let the shadows stretch their fingers, let the stars begin to peer,

I am happy to be missing while the sea is all I hear.