Untitled 7-2-2017

Churning and rolling. Storms somehow stir outside but within proximity to the calm settled inside a dark but awakened shell.

Coursing around, tumbling upon the sands and white waves that kiss the shores toes. Turbulent and steady, a never ending long shore drift of change and bleak return.

Still, the constant berating changes not just the surface but what lies within. To a point where a shell is not a shell. A rock no longer a rock.

Bits scattered, worn and beaten. Among them more of the same. Remnants of shells, those who used to be, but are no longer recognizable because of the conditions that shaped them,wore them into oblivion. 

Tossed them about as if they could take it, to only end up pieces of what once was.