The Ocean Breathes Salty

I watch as we all march blindly into the swells feet first, scraping the ocean floor with drudgery drowning in this academia, with starfish and sandcastles and sentiments that wash away with each coming of the tide We haven't always been as marching ants, back to back and hand in hand we've built this land from nothing The past recedes and tomorrow rises, time progresses: open minded while we all dredge with stapled eyelids still planning out our everything Forever long, the brine blue tide is always beckoning us onward. Its too hard to tell when father time is playing tricks on me. The future is grim, the reaper's dead-bent on harvesting the seeds we've sown fathers who've passed on debt long owed to sons who laugh hard while they hit the road like water flows all the way to the sandbank I cant help but wish on starfish sinking out to sea that tomorrow is still a glass half-full of new surprises vast and outstanding before me. I took for granted the grand horizon, full of beauty and hope, and a sun that still rises over sandcastles crumbling into their counteraction the certainty of sand that never sticks together long. I took for granted the way that nothing is the way it used to be or was or could've been and how its all been done before Can anyone look up, when their feet are down and they waltz on far less sacred ground than those who came before them. The nature of the ocean forms to fit its mold with its blue hue reflecting bold the sky and all its glory. We march onward through the rivers rotting with the raindrops spotting our overcoats we march onward for the sake of stopping sometime when we are old. The ocean swells with the river's rot the tide compelled the stars to stop and the fish all cry as people keep on drowning. The reaper is told to cut his losses to save the few who still have conscience and to try again tomorrow. Tomorrow's glass, half-empty in want is chock full of the river's rot and the conscious few left fearful.