A small

Sliver of

Formerly formidable

Concrete

Has stumbled upon the shoreline,

Gasping for air,

While simultaneously searching

For

Structure.

Scattered among the seashells,

Wayward pieces from an ancient Atlantis,

Or a miscellaneous  fragment

Of

A currently

Submerged bridge,

(That has just now come to terms with the inevitability of erosion)

This drifting debris,

Literally swimming with the fishes,

And

Rubbing

Elbows with the eels.

Telling fables

Of

 Noisy transportation,

That none

Of

The surrounding

Marine biology believes.

It reaches out for the deep sea hooks,

That

Dance

And dangle

Just out of reach,

Tempting schools

Of

Foolish fish

And they have become like occasional

Christmas ornaments,

For the

Sedentary sediment to marvel at.

(Ironically appearing less frequently in December, though)

Buried

And

Then

Uncovered by some

Flailing tail,

And

Then buried again.

Movement is at a minimum.

But this concrete has

Definite plans,

It aspires to once again,

Scrape the sky,

Or perhaps

Be a part

Of

A

House

Of

Lights.

This chip of cement,

Smiles as

Hurricanes & Typhoons

Pass over,

And

Sweep the ocean floor clean of

The oceans first born,

And spread seaweed

Onto the shores of archipelagos,

To  temporarily shackle the ankles of fisherman,

That wade carelessly in tide-pools.

But still the

Rock

Rests,

Inching closer

To

Far-away shores,

Knowing that,

If it is ever discovered,

By a

Lifeguard

Or

Mason

That

Happens

To

Be on vacation,

The most significant

Contribution,

It can ever

Make,

Is

Probably being

A simple

Slice

Of a mosaic masterpiece,

Which

At it’s best,

Is only a disengaged puzzle,

But even something

This

Set-in-stone,

Is still very open to interpretation.