The Ocean's Tide

A seashell,
washing up on a calm beach,
on a clear starry night.
The moon is full,
the sand is soft,
and everything is tranquil.

But if one stops to think about it,
that seashell has no choice of where it is carried.
Forced to be taken with the tide,
tossed about in deadly waves and waters.

It once held life
beneath its smooth surface.
But then the shell was discarded,
and is now chipped along the edges.

As the seashell reaches the beach,
a young girl,
who had been running along the shoreline,
stoped to pick it up.

She exclaimed how beautiful it was,
as examining it under the moonlight.
Though as she ran her fingers along the pearl-white shell's ridges,
she was cut on one of the chipped sides,
so the girl threw it into the tide.

The tide retracted,
sending the seashell tumbling below the surface.
It collided with the underwater sea floor,
and rested there.

It rested there,
lodged in the wet sand,
underneath the tide.

Air bubbles surged toward the surface
where it had been thrown into.
It was as if it was drowning,
wishing to be back on the beach,
away from the push of the tide.

But seashells have no choice.