The Final Toss

I spent the past weekend down by the coast, where the ocean, with its salt-water waves, shells, winds, and sands, breathed life and inspiration into my soul. Ok, fine. The Gulf of Mexico isn’t technically an ocean, but it has salt-water waves, shells, winds, and sands, so it’s close enough.

Since I’ve been having a poetry craze recently, it’s only natural that the ocean would give me inspiration to write a poem. A poem in which I might be the first person to personify a seashell.

Yup. That’s my sentimental, seashell-loving self.

Crystal Beach, TX

Shell swirling, shell churning,

Tossed between currents,

Always whirling.


For thousands of miles,

It soars and plummets.

Up near the choppy surface,

Down past abysmal spires.


Always suffering through rough ocean creases,

Dashed to bits,

Chipped to pieces.


Yearning for rest,

For sands soft but secure.

Yearning for,

The final toss.


At last it feels a sudden tug,

Of receding currents and pulling sand.

As it lifts in the arms of one giant wave,

It feels, for the first time, rather grand.


It lurches forward,

With the wave.

Sliding onto grainy sand,

Finally safe.


But no, its hardships aren’t over.

They seem to never end,

Bringing the shell to despair.


Its fellows make the sand rough.

For they, like it, were forced to shed their beauty

By the merciless currents that made them

Scraped and tough.


All their edges, once elegant and smooth

Are now ragged and lined with sharp grooves.

They were once adorned in crimson spirals,

Now coated in ashy grey, as if burned by fire.


Reduced thus to half its former glory,

Feet crush the shell without a thought,

Recoiling back repulsively.

If only they knew the battles it had fought,

They would step more delicately.


Suddenly a hand picks the shell up.

A hand so soft, so gentle.

It never knew such loving care,

As it was placed into a special cup.


It realized all along,

What it had always yearned for,

Was to be treasured always.

To belong.

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