An Ode To A Weary Soul

Last week I ran away from home,
Away from work, away from phone.
All things of which I’d had enough,
I drove south ’til I reached the gulf.
A blanket spread on sun warmed sand,
Amid all sorts, from pale to tan.
They knew me not nor bothered me,
While I lay listening to the sea.
Waiting for my soul to rest.
As the sun waned toward the West,
Symphonies through my stillness rang.
Children laughed and seagulls sang,
In rhythm to the metered surf;
A harmony marked by timeless worth.
I idly toyed with drifted sand,
As countless grains fell from my hand,
Like sands undone from hourglass.
I felt my taut release at last,
And rest to my weary soul did come,
With knowledge I must return to home.