Creative Writing 6 (Free Verse)
The tranquil blue softens our mind to mirror it’s apparent kindness—letting us form a closer acquaintanceship with each wave that folds towards our skin.
It is foreign, it is a deep, dark unknown that rolls to our feet and gives surface-level company.
The salt climbs our skin and crystallizes the infections of our recent wounds—we are healed by the graceful touch of something we can never fully know.
And we stand there, bathing in it’s radiating warmth, expecting the sea to give us what we came for.
It does, for all that we can tell. We leave with stinging knees, reddened with the satisfaction of a routine vacation.
We have bathed, we have waded, we have listened to it’s roar, and the sea accepts our ignorance of its power until we leave it to dry in our summer memories.
We have come to enjoy the lapping waves, take advantage of the healing salts, and disrupt the sandy, leveled mouth with prideful castles of human nature. We have consistently watched, built, then left. We have never reached out to the sea’s silent plead to stop bruising its body.
Each slap on the knee and the grittiness of a sandy tounge should be enough to make us wonder why we have come to visit a place of such vicious beauty.
The mornings that gloom of greys and greens should indeed be admired, but the darkened stir of sediments screams for its rescue. We have been ignoring the extent of the life that the sea holds and we have only loved it’s surface like that of a two-day romance.