Beach
My oasis, the beach.
Soothing sounds of clashing waves
hitting the shore.
White seashells
on their bed, the sand.
The backdrop a descending sun.
Orange hues of sun
crown the beach.
Her footstool, the sand.
Rhythmically watered by waves
sporadic shells
make constellations on the shore.
The seducing shore
craving the rays from the sun.
Her adornments, the shells.
The beckoning beach
with sounds of waves
and a place to rest on the sand.
My toes on the warm sand
contrasting with the coolness of the shore,
tickled by waves,
skin penetrated by the sun,
fresh smells of the beach,
and delicate shells.
Ever present shells
sanded on sand
on this pacific beach.
Blessed by this shore.
Anointed by the sun.
Baptized by waves.
Offerings brought by waves
in the form of shells.
Spectating is the sun
as they are ushered to the sand
to the altar shore.
I worship at the beach.
Waves are like choir leading me to the sand.
Shells the simplistic décor of the shore
and the sun the priest of my church beach.
The cubicle jockey job is only a cover. Writer of poems, observations, and short stories.