Sandcastle

Sandcastle

By Shaire Blythe
February 20, 2017

A child lives in his own sandcastle along crested waves
that come to life each time dawn emerges
from the edge of the blue expanse,
and he drags out stars and coral fish,
whispering, "What shall I do with you?"

He lets the creatures free, to roam the waters that sing
sweet lullabies of treasures buried and lost
at the hands of mystified explorers who had calmly
stroked their beards, smelling of greasy layers of six month filth.

Delicate breasts had once known the comfort of the child,
swaying him as the seagulls elegantly soared above,
circling a temporary spot as they waited for him
to rise to his feet and inch closer to the sea.

Waves tickled the tip of his toes and
he had stopped, uncertain about how far was enough,
and no one had cried out that seagulls weren't to be trusted
and to linger on the sand was a safe haven.

A child lives in his own sandcastle along the crested waves,
that cannot be seen by the eyes of the bikini-clad beachgoers
and stationed lifeguards in wooden towers,
only coming to life each time dawn emerges.

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