The crashing sounds of the waves as it hits against sharp jagged rocks

Brings me back to a time and a place my memories have not forgot

Of sparkling blue Water, clear to its depth

Schools of fish encircling each other

Swimming in beautiful synchronicity

The paleness of the Moonlight as it glimmers

Down upon dark sands

Made so by the darkness of the Night

It's hard grains boring into barefoot

Seeping in between toes and oozing its warm wetness

Children's laughter as they frolic in its inky blueness

As Night draws near the faraway cries of the seagull

Echoes aft into the horizon

Wings flapping in wondrous bliss

Fish filled their gulls

The Day's catch

And for a moment I am transfixed

I breathe deeply of the salty, raw, air, and sighs of gratitude

I stare out upon horizon

The wind whips my hair around solemn face

I turn as a voice yells from the distant hills

Time to come home

As I lay upon my bed of cotton green, blue,

my mind wanders back to a place so very far off

But sweet still

My eyes bear the mark of the wizened old

Yet my mind heart and my memories are of youthful bliss

I hear the call of the seagulls as clearly as if I were standing there

And my Mothers voice as it sweetly intones from way atop the rocky mound

Child, it's time for you to come home

And as I turned my eyes that once saw as a Child

To be one with the place I've always called home

It harkens upon a time never to be again

As I close my eyes in final slumber.

This was written in 2012 Standing on the rocks of Helshire beach, my home was no where close, but I always envisioned a house on the little mound of dirt by the water. My Mother worked as a Waitress and sometimes she would take my Sister and I to work. She would point to the sand and tell us about buried treasures indicating that we should go play digging in the sand and try to find some.

Disclaimer: Words over time changes in meaning. It is a Generational Cycle, Poetry or prose's are written in Language that is or was commonly spoken during a particular generation and as such may be subject to interpretation that's flawed. Poetry does not always speak to an individuals personal experience, often times it's imagery or in the case of a Poem words that rhyme,

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