The sun beats down,
leaving my skin a strawberry color.
It is summer and we are at the beach,
feathers fall loose from seagull wings,
excited children run giggling and gathering them,
build sand castles of our world.
In a way childhood is one of those feathers,
bringing such joy,
such happiness to our eyes.
The water rushes in and out, in and out, placing my breath in the air
like a symphony.
I scratch my burnt skin
and listen to the sound of nails on an old map.
Our world is warming and warming
until we return to the earth as sand once again.
leaving my skin a strawberry color.
It is summer and we are at the beach,
feathers fall loose from seagull wings,
excited children run giggling and gathering them,
build sand castles of our world.
In a way childhood is one of those feathers,
bringing such joy,
such happiness to our eyes.
The water rushes in and out, in and out, placing my breath in the air
like a symphony.
I scratch my burnt skin
and listen to the sound of nails on an old map.
Our world is warming and warming
until we return to the earth as sand once again.
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doug.demaio
Jan 15, 2020
Cool piece. It has a nice sound to it. I think where you say "on dry skin" it would be more powerful to use a metaphor there. Like "the sound of nails on brittle paper" or something--the reader already knows you're talking about skin, so you have the opportunity to inject some more description in there without confusing things.
Nice work with this!