The Tide

The tide again slips in like a ghost upon the wind.
Its salty aroma filling the recesses of a mind scarred by time.
Fingers aged and worn reach out to touch and find memories.

Memories, unrestricted by the boundaries of time…
A child dancing in and out of waves that swiftly
Find their end upon the boundless sands beneath tiny feet.

A young boy building castles among dunes of sand,
Where tales of kings and queens and loyal subjects
Ignite the imagination and take flight above the rolling swell.

Memories… cherished, loved, held fast within an aged heart.
And between the walls of a mind that longs to return to the edge,
The tide again slips in like a ghost, and children play.