By the Sea Shore

She sells sea shells by the sea shore
But if she had me we’d buy the sea shore
She sells the sea’s shells cuz her heart screams torn
But who can she tell- we don’t listen to the sea no mo’

I see this girl every day, lookin the same in every way. My eyes stray behind her waist, but my heart’s drawn unto her face. A face with beautiful, sunset eyes that have never seen the moon. Never, seen the night through to the cleanliness spawned of the dawn. Never- and so she regards herself as a shadow of the night. Mrs. Less-Than-Perfect who dare not raise eyes above surface to lock vision with Mr. Right, she cheats her life by not answering as a child of light…

And it is for this very reason that I cannot get in. I don’t know what it is, but when I see her by the sea I just have a passion for her to live.  Girl please put down these shells, so you don’t block Heaven’s Cupid…

I love you.  More than you will ever know.  More than you can likely handle in this instant like a pot of oatmeal, but you’re the real deal- a big deal in my world.  I see past the sea and the shells you sling- right into your inmost being.  The precious heart of a small girl, who yearns to be a princess… somebody’s Queen, somebody’s pearl.

Well let me introduce myself. You can call me Somebody.  Somebody who’s been watchin. Somebody who’s been prayin. Somebody who’s somehow fallen in love with you and has been patiently waiting.

One day you will see that you don’t have to sell sea shells by the sea shore anymore.

And on that day, there I shall be- on bended knee offering you the keys to a plain looking door that leads to SO much more.



She floats…
And it draws forth his strength.
The piano plays soft melodies unlocking his doors-
That’s why they’re called piano keys.
And her joy guitar strings his heart to pure happiness…
He can never stay mad
He is obligated to throw it in the trash, because who she is- makes him GLAD.
In the lounge he stands on stage flowing in poetry…
Flowing, knowing that knowledge of you is costly for it cost himself…
Just like it cost Christ.
He loves for he WAS loved by THE love…
Her heart beat, beats slow like a sensual dance on a congo…
Up, down, body roll
The fire of his life- pyro
The orchestra head of light- maestro
And he might go home… or not
In his heart he knows he must marry her, because life is a rotating revolution
And at the first touch of Heaven- it STOPS.
As did his.
As did mine.
A timeless phrase can never be deemed cliche, and so with fervent heart cadence of joy I say-
Baby you are one of a kind.

~The Wordsmith