Sadstorming

So let me sort through what I still hold,
to what remains.
The sickness, the anguish, the solid
which couldn't be dissolved by the turning tide.
Let me breathe from these survivors,
swim closely to my heartless dangerous shores.
Sand that mourns, sand that weeps.
It never felt this close to the bottom.

I will browse for the pearls, for the sunken treasures,
and the neverending, hungry hope.
Starvation for life and survival.
Let me steal your glory, this single step in time,
swearing it will be enough to fill and to hide.
Let me be here, wanting to be and to see
what is still held close to the core.
A few unburdened jewels, lost from their shine
and their protective chest.
My survivors that insist, restlessly and surprisingly,
to breathe through the rough sand.

Let me join them.
My search must soon begin.