In a small, picturesque beach town, seclusion is considered luxury.
Yet they believe the sky is red, no matter what the truth is.
Anyone who says otherwise is just foolish.
Burying their toes in the plush, sandy ignorance,
while watching the waves gulp in desperation the sand,
hopes, and dreams in an endless body,
long and blonde perceiving the eye as water.
Individuality ravaged by the salt and haughtiness
of the seemly friendly coastal air.
Those albino locks sweetly holding some under duress
The faces you know will never escape the grip of the tide, in endless acquiesce
Faces that will always bellow to the sky asking why it is not blue,
but the truth is they would cry no matter what color it may be.
Welcome home, hope you can swim.