Tides of Grace

Slight ting from crisping golden beams,

The mellow sway of palms rustles

There leaves chirping

Intrinsic in the forgotten hustle

The sounds left beyond the tides.

The oscillating sound

Reverberates internal

Crashes in statics

And fades fondly, forever

Measure by measure

I find no meanings left to withstand

No persona to assemble

No identity to prune

For I am adrift in mind

Panic picnics left past

My momentary state of maturity

I have no discomforts

And left lulled by the waves

In elegant ambiance increasing

Left lost in natural splendor

Unshared and connected

Gracefully Conscious