Her Hands Are Now Full

She sits alone,
the warm sand
is all that understands
that her hands are empty.
Oceans are seen for miles around,
and this ground is the only option
besides succumbing to the temptation
of a relationship with the sea.
The ocean with its calm,
solemn waters could easily
drown her, sleepily carrying
and burying her in death.
The lonelier it gets, the softer
the edges of death seem,
and only a feather of reluctance
takes a stance for life.
Just before the feather fades
to a whispering breath,
hopes of death are washed away
when, one day, a boat lies on the horizon.
The morning sheen of the ocean
tries to hide the winning strokes
of the bloke’s oars
from the shores of its captive.
The determined boat gives
hope to the girl,
and the world suddenly seems
further than all her dreams.
Now she stands,
betraying the sands
and the lands she cared for
for the daring possibility.
By sheer ability,
he arrived
and survived the sad sea
if only to see the girl.
The sea did not hurl its great mass,
anger did not amass in its waves,
but gravely said goodbye
as the sky, in sympathy, cried.
She didn’t need a savior,
only the behavior of a friend,
but, at the end, he took her hand
and finally, then, she did understand.