The Flag of the Beach

Orange are the clouds, dappled in setting light;

Appearing for mere minutes, in dazed splendor,

Flamboyant claims over splotchy patches of sky.

The clock silently ticks.

Fade it will, eventually.

Does it know that?

Yellow is the sun, the droopy director.

Fire, warm, sparks the air

Igniting plastic pleasantries.

It speaks through Midas-gold rays, an omniscient

Destiny; tracing arcs and arcs and arcs

The single star in our system.

White is the sand, coarse and nimble.

Wide shot - lamb soft;

Close up - wolf teeth.

Within dull ribbonned rainbows

One crumbling shell calls,

Slowly losing lustre.

Blue is the sky, omnipresent horizon.

Storks hoard, fight, fall, all one-leggedly,

Marred by the drifting grey billows.

Whipping gusts, trees, bushes.

Howling, shrieking -

Mediocrity, it will not obey.

Blue is the ocean, submerging all.

Hiding beneath Gaia’s murky surface are

No treasures, no troves, only sunken past.

Words doused at the lips,

Kindling thrown in the fire.

A tsunami roars its head.

I know the flag of the beach.