It Must Be Quiet In The Future

Shells sitting on the beach, Washed by lazy waves- Crawling up the sand; Shells... so fragile. Only the tide dares to touch their white forms bleached slowly by delicate rays. Only the tide dare disturb what lay passive but to an eye- grabbing like the sand; one turn at a time. To bring them back to the place they once were and the particles they still are, like me. Only the tide is allowed to touch So says the jealous moon Sitting so close, but so far.