Washed up on your shores, I open my eyes,
and I look into the endless expanse of your sunset.
your sky that embraces me, your clouds that enfold me,
your waves that push the limits of my being to new places.
I feel between my fingers your sands that never seem to tarnish my hands,
that never seem to burn my feet,
that never seem to scratch my face.
I feel your waters surround me…
waters that never seem too cold,
that never seem to hold a threat of drowning me,
that always leaves its salt in my hair and on my forehead,
that always hints to be a remanence of you.
But somehow on this beach of infinite serenity,
somewhere deep within its belly,
I feel a distinct sense of hostility,
and an overwhelming urge to destroy.
I should have predicted…
As soon as the setting sun makes way for the dark realm;
As soon as the Moon offers the light of ages to footsteps on beaches turned foreign;
As soon the stars appear in an attempt to give lost vision a lit path…
Your beach turns cold,
your waters turn icy,
your waves storm like bulls at my bleeding heart,
your sands cut my feet,
your salt burns my face,
your waters turn red…
So I endure the torture for the last time,
for when the morning makes its glorious arrival I will build a vessel from the wreckage that is me,
to cross your waters,
to leave your sands,
to forget your skies,
and heal my broken heart.