Winter Morning At The Shore

in the morning,

the ocean is calm,

trash trucks canvass

the boardwalk,

preparing receptacles for a

new day’s rush,

the air is cool but not cold,

life ticks on,

gulls fly by and waves dance,

everything as it should be;

everyday;

on TV the talk is about Syria

and new righteous wars,

but the dolphins and gulls

don’t know about these things,

and neither should we;

but still we do;

it is in our nature,

our heritage,

and so we will,

but it is of our own choosing,

for we have options;

alone, I go for a walk

on the boardwalk,

one last time,

Chinese Christians gather

on the beach,

praying to someone or something

to make sense of it all

before it is too late,

I watch from afar,

thinking about my work

and promises made but not kept,

about the predictability of it all

and how sometimes you wish

you were wrong;

just once;

watching the ocean waves

pound slowly on the sandy shore,

realizing that they could care less,

that everyone but me

could care less,

and perhaps I should

care less too;

I think of my father,

and how I wish I could show him

that it doesn't always

have to be his way,

that it is okay to feel good,

that it is okay to simply be;

but I know that I never will;

winter at the shore

is the best time of all,

for some it is a given,

others hold fast to it like a man

drowning in the ocean,

later these thoughts will

mean nothing,

but for the moment they

are everything;

they are

all there is;

perhaps the golden years

won’t be so bad after all,

maybe they will be

just what was needed,

or at least something new;

crawling back into bed,

reaching for her

warm body,

happy to be where I am at;

happy for one more breath.

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