The Sea That Sparkles
A poem: By Olivia Williams
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Sunset spills like melting gold,
Tumbling through my dry fingers—
Sifting the soft grain through my palm,
Some sand—almost forming a mold.
Shells— sea worn, colors seeming to bleed through their rough patches.
Waves nudging along the sandy shore,
Seeming to lap the surface
In white foam,
Slowly hushing and sighing
As they swirl together,
leaving shells—
More intertwining—catching on the fine sand,
Forever sifting just beyond the water's edge.
The lighthouse glows,
Casting light—
A silent voice that flows to those beyond the shallow waters,
Holding the sea in place—
Just in case.
Soft humming surrounds
As cardinals glide—
conversing together in mounds
On the lighthouse top,
Attracted by the growing night.
Knowing sleep is eminent,
So they hum goodbyes,
Murmuring together as
Everything settles after crossing ties.
Still— Beaming light slices into
Teal—cascading waters,
Lighting a path of watercolored flame— lighting the last of foaming waves.
Never seeming to falter,
As if there stretching to reach me,
At the last grin of the sun.
Sea spreads molten pastels—
Tints of sapphire, moss, and soft yellow,
Open valleys underneath
The sheltered coral,
Shuffling in place as tropical-hued fish,
Cluttering around it
While seeming to sway like bells.
Each wave of color layering
—unlocking a key.
Like a canvas—a small brushstroke in motion,
holding life only few ever see.
The sun,
Scattering jewels like Ember
across the fading horizon.
The clouds drifting,
Leaving a Crystal sky
Where the shades of sunset settle,
To look like glass
—The view never seems to lie.
Distant murmurs of
Tide’s steady tune,
A salty tang sifts
the ocean air,
A faint scent of seaweed, and tulips
Scatter the sea side,
Never leaving the beach bare.
Tiny ***** scurry about the sand,
Forming miniature shadows—
While creeping through crevasses
Of water-worn rocks,
Sinking into the land.
What's left of foam still laces the shore,
Like woven-textured fabric
—foam bubbling more.
Light bends one last time,
Never faltering over the ledge.
Filling the sky
Where the last of day
Meets the eternal edge.
—till morning
Waves slither to an end,
Leaving any small damage
On the shore to mend,
Night drapes,
Stars shimmer softly.
Sea breathing–a soft and slow drum.
Sea’s quiet hum—
The softest sound of day,
Drifting patiently
For the next day to come,
To eternally illuminate the water
In miracles and chrystal’s.
As no matter the day,
The sea sparkles—
Either way.