Beach Comfort

This poem is written in the Sestina Form. From "Sestinas are poems in which six words keep coming back at the ends of the lines in a specific poem." Enjoy.

The world of the waves
sweeps over the wide smooth sand
along which I stroll, barefoot,
bucket in hand, fingers picking up sea shells,
heart and soul seeking comfort
as the waves roll back and then in again, refreshed.

I find my thoughts roll around, far from refreshed
moving through my emotions, waves
and waves of emotion, refusing comfort.
I look at the endless expanse of sand
Stretching in front of me, shells
Scattered through the footprints left by barefoot

children and adults. They walk barefoot
along the beach, hoping to be refreshed
as they collect the shells
that roll in at the mercy of the waves.
My heart shifts like the sand
blown before the wind. Why is comfort

so elusive? I need to find comfort
here where the barefoot
children run in the sand
and their parents are refreshed
as they play together in the waves.
Is the comfort I seek found in the shells?

Does the comfort live in the shells?
Or am I responsible for finding my own comfort,
not allowing others to steal it and throw it in the waves
to wash out to sea, leaving me barefoot
and alone? I am suddenly refreshed
by that thought. I dig my toes in the sand

and laugh, laugh, laugh as the sand
buries my feet, tiny sea shells
tumbling and tumbling. Refreshed
I turn to leave, knowing I find comfort
in my own heart, in my own soul. Barefoot
I wade back through the waves.

I kick the loose hot sand as I walk home, comfort
warming my heart, sea shells rattling in my bucket. Barefoot
I realize I am refreshed, like the never ending waves.

All content ęGlenda Poulter, 2012-2014.