The Living Shore

An incognizant, lax, and shallow ocean wave

Gently envelopes the orbed pearl the crying cooter gave

As if beckoning the greater treasure of dormant esprit that abides

And urging it to relish the world that is covered from its eyes.

All is pleasant for the niche.

A shrill cry and foreboding flap brings strife

And signals the first danger of the pearl’s life.

The invigorated sky is torn and invaded by the white-coated devils

By the overshadowed talons and mandibles from which it dishevels

The once innocent and harmonious niche.

A shout is heard from a child who near the pearl abides.

The protector who waves the clawed creatures aside.

For the young boy’s innocence in living dictates

That he for another conscious being appreciates

The life that is resting upon the niche.

The rough yet fragile pearl with something far more precious inside

Gives a mild shake to the boy staring at its side.

He brims with attention and hope and crouches his leg

At the cracking of the pearl to reveal the nest egg.

The purpose is almost fulfilled for the niche.

A smile he gives as the shelled emerald cries

As the remains of the pearl is washed away from the tide rise.

The hatchling steadily rubs against the rough and moist gravel

As it inches with its flippers to learn of the senses that unravel.

The tides have finally begun to wash away this niche.

The boy cups up the hatchling as it continues to grovel away

“Don’t worry,” he softly whispers to it. “I’ll show you the way.”

He lets it back down as it senses the embrace

Of the waves that beckon and mildly take it with haste.

Soon enough the niche will revive,

For the cycle of life will forever live in a niche.