Peppered ground, molding to
The curves of my feet
Dry, cold, refreshing, folding
Through my toes, an hourglass
At my base
Salted air carves out my lungs
Each breath a memory of
My youthful Sundays
In, out, in, out
Through time I glide,
Redolent of the sea
I'm 8 years old
A grey wind washes my face
As vinegar from the newspaper
Seeps into my shorts
The lemon top cream, cries
Over its cone, caressing my brothers
Fingers, sugared white
Arcade lights bounce off
The mirrored walls, non
Rhythmical but enticing
And the Sea sings with its
Crashing Harmonic drone to
The seagull pitched melodies
Nature's orchestra
My parents, giants now
Support my weight through
The current of the water,
I bounce, they laugh,
The laugh of youth.
They were so young.
Rain attacks my cold
Young face, the hourglass
Sand, thrown upwards
Time shifts,
Im 36 again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem