Prone Alone

Used and discarded thought shadows lurk at every sunrise as if each were renewed. A touch from the fading past, in a moment as i look at the wet pebbles, ever decreasing. Welcoming the receding tide, a caressing breeze on which floats, the busy two tone oyster catcher. On that breeze voice’s travel, voice's calling out over the relentless, out going, in coming waves. Are we all but driftwood ? Leaving to return when the gorse flower is yellow in rare sunlight. Maybe rudderless, in a firm belief and trust, of our hearts compass, and its choice is free. Be elusive ! Leave no trace, be faceless in milling throngs and crowds, not out of place. Perhaps a living phantom, amongst many, yet never carless in your constant carefree. Blend into the background, be seamless.