​Pensacola Beach Florida, beautifully nestled in the Gulf of Mexico

White firey sand that barefoot children broke into dead sprint

Towards cooling but savory water filled with countless specimens of awe

As though peering into the fishtank where a young clown fish became trapped

Finding Nemo, and all of his friends, free in the ocean

To young and nieve not to imitate the great Steve Irwin with a stingray

To caught up in the swirls upon it’s back not to kick, disturbing the sand it rested

Mind hungry to see what might lie beneath the dusty surface

He is a hero who inspires curiosity to this steadily growing woman

Trapped inside her own fishtank in constant fear of the unknown

Ony desiring for the life of simple living to return again

Palm trees taller then her ability to climb

Oceans larger then her eyes capacity to behold

An iridescent surface that sparkled innocent sun rays

A severe sole childhood sunburn though mild at the time

Could later become manevolent in its efforts of the hot ball of death’s desire to kill

Burn the very species it’s been forced to watch destroy everything it touches

Silently plotting the inevitable demise of part of the planitary family

Though the humans sit and laugh in their awkward ways on the sand

Sand where blood has been shed and slaves have been traded

Where lies have been told and hearts have been irreversibly damaged

Children don’t care when the sand scorches their skin

For a sense of their own mortality has yet to begun in their developing minds

The sand beholds treasures, a multitude of brilliantly assorted seashells

These magificent objects want children to believe hours collecting them

While the sun eats at warm flesh cooked to perfection, is ok

Where would the weasel’s treasure be then in the woman’s dessert home?

Where the water only sparkles miles away where invisible money

Is unable to fill the endless contents of her guzzling car’s tank

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