Monday, November 26, 2007


Beachcomber, tanned and tough, taut and tight, hard and scarred by wind and rain, years of pain, lined, undefined, beard like wheat dried by heat, eyes squint in a glint, exposed to the glow of snow, sand and sea, lips cracked, unkissed. What have they missed?

Beachcomber, Beachcomber, for what do you search?
What do you look for there in the sand?
The sea is your brothel. The sky is your church.
What longing haunts you, Beachcomber Man?

What do you demand from the hot desert sand? Why do you cry to the cloud shrouded sky? You hold in your hand a sifter and spade, tools of your trade. Are there gifts of the sea in the floating debris? Do they wait for you patiently?

Beachcomber, Beachcomber what will you find?
What is the true value of dreams cast ashore?
Who buries love words deep in your mind?
What is your lonely heart still searching for?

Beachcomber remembers a cold winter day a handful of pennies came his way. A thin golden ring, a beautiful thing. A watch thick with grime still aware of the time. Seaweed for a bed, a conch for a pillow under his head. Driftwood for a fire, an old rubber tire. a length of strong wire. Things he might need.

Beachcomber, Beachcomber will your search cease?
When it is over, what will you do?
Will discovery bring death? Will it bring peace?
Will it uncover heartaches anew?


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