Sailor Boy
Blood seeps in into the sand on tropical beaches where children
Should have played, death washed upon the shore where glistening
Stones should have lain.
In the teal water bobs forms, rolling in the waves,
Lifeless bodies now awakened from their empty watery graves.
He was young, so young, that soldier boy who washed ashore.
He was pale, so pale, that soldier boy who breathed no more.
His face was so smooth, maybe a freckle here and there.
He looked like he was sleeping, peaceful without a care.
No one was there to morn him, his family across the sea.
No one was there to cry for him, he was alone as alone can be.
Alone that is except for the other boys, who washed ashore beside
Him. Their bodies speckled across the beach, rolling softly to the
sea's haunting hymn.
That night his lips turned blue with cold as the stars hung low in
The sky, the moon was so close it could kiss the sand—I was sure
The heavens would cry.
That tropical island was broken with sorrow, its beaches marked
Only by tragedy, that sailor boy broke its magic, filling the shores
With treachery.
Someday children will play again, on that bank where he lay,
Laughter will fill the air again-his memory fading far away.
Only the shores will remember he was there, and the sand he laid
Upon. His memory will sway with the palm trees-his name
whispered in the ocean's song.
They'll sing him a lullaby above the skies where seagulls soar, and
They'll never forget that day of sorrow-the day that sailor boy
Washed ashore.