Tides of Truth

On a peaceful day, seagulls glide,
while shells scattered across the sand reflect pure sunlight.

A storm is raging beyond,
nearing the calm sands,
immersed in self-proclaimed vindication.

Ripples turn into unapologetic waves,
ominous clouds loom,
weakening the shells’ radiance.

Fierce winds rage, waves crash,
pulling the sand, burying the shells in its path,
distorting the once beautiful, calm shoreline.

Just outside the destruction path:
a beach seemingly unaffected,
shells illuminating,
whispering truths the storm refuses to hear.

Collisions between water and silt unearth twin conchs,
their siphonal canals singing serene sounds of the ocean.

One sings of truth, the other of denial.

Their melodies entwine with the squall’s howls,
beckoning it to calm.
The harmonious blend appeals,
violent waves turn to soft swells,
gales easing into calm breezes.

Bruised and battered, their will to sing begins to falter.

One conch continues,
averting a repetition.

The other choosing to stop,
churning the storm once more,
bound to its path.

Truth lies in patterns of the tide
What storms blame others for their ride
While peaceful waters clearly show
The face of who stirred waves below