Tides of Change

Along my shoreline, the tides of time rush towards me.
I cannot breathe in salt air that directs my soul to sing
a song of hope, a song of love...a cry of sorrow.
There is a heart somewhere, in the flight of pelicans,
drifting over the foamy caps of waves; the whisper of hope.
I lift a conch shell to my hear, praying that my muse will
sing to me the sky electric in hues of pink, blue and sonnets.
There is no sound but the white noise of lost words.
Within the waters of my veins, the salt and blood of me,
are wisps of phrases caught in the nets of yesterday.
To free them, I shall climb on the rocks of today,
letting my hair become a mass of seaweed and foam.
The songs of sirens will awaken the muse that longs to sing
within crashing waves the promise of tomorrow.