The Beach

Walking on the sand,

Through the mists of time.

A strange building looms

it is the past,

a bunker from world war two

where soldiers could hide

where soldiers could shoot

a German enemy,

I hear the shouts

I see nothing.

The mist is so thick now,

the sea roars as waves lick the coast

and the shouting draws nearer.

Not a breeze stirs the air

the world is still.

Is that shots I hear.

A figure moves in the mist

getting closer, closer.

A man is shouting,

his dog comes running.

I am here,

back in the now.

The mists disguise all

distort the truth.

I see the beauty

in the past,

in the present,

in the future,

through the ocean, the sands and mists of time.