They don't sleep on the beach anymore.
They wear the masks of the meek, only to cover faces of the week.
Hollowed out bodies of their own accord.
No plans to be-little, no plans to adore.
"Alone!" They cry, by the hundreds they cry.
A room full of empty people,
All sitting by the shore.
They don't sleep by the beach, anymore.
Salvation is at hand!
For those that find themselves with grain of sand in thier hands.
Grains lying at rest in every crease, every pour;
Filling every space left on their shore.
Few sleep on the beach anymore.
Such progress to be made and to have!
To sleep where most never have!
To let thy ear capture all there is to hear.
Such sounds to revel in as we adorn,
The mindset of one-ness, with the ebb and flow of self-
Assured we may be.
For those that see.
There is nothing better on this earth,
Than to lay down ones empty self
And fill the flask of mind and birth.
eterernity in this plot of earth.
We sleep on the beach, forevermore.