Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

The shells lie scattered, spread out across the beach, 
their edges smoothed by the constant ebb and flow of the waves. 
Some are tiny, 
delicate like the first light of dawn, 
while others are more substantial, 
curved and laden with the passage of time. 
They rest in silence, 
beauty radiating quietly, 
yet conveying profound narratives to those who are attentive.  

Every shell has a tale to tell, 
a piece of a story from a life beneath the ocean. 
You can almost hear the gentle murmurs of the tides, 
feel the remnants of currents that have long passed, 
as your fingers glide over their textured surfaces, 
their spirals winding into memories 
of a realm that remains elusive. 
They have journeyed far and wide, 
transported by the winds and waves, 
tumbling along the sea bed, 
originating from far-off coasts you may never see, 
from depths that are hidden from view.  

Some shells bear cracks, 
their jagged edges evidence of nature's relentless power, 
a reminder of life's delicateness. 
Others remain intact, 
unmarked by time’s harsh trials, 
their polished surfaces shining in the sunlight, 
seemingly eternal, full of perfection, untouched by the world’s harsh realities.  

Yet, each one is distinct. 
Every shell is a singular creation, 
its design a unique fingerprint, 
its texture a record of the life it has led. 
As you pick one up, 
rotate it thoughtfully in your hand, 
you ponder its origins, 
what shores it has visited, 
what marine life it has offered shelter to. 
The ocean bestows, 
and the ocean takes away, 
yet these shells 
these remnants of lives lived deep within saltwater 
endure.  

They encapsulate something that eludes human grasp, 
a narrative composed in the dialect of waves, 
carved into each delicate curvature, 
every slight indentation. 
If you listen closely, 
the essence of the sea resides within them, 
the echo of water, 
the surge of tides against cliffs, 
the faint reminiscence of an ancient world 
more profound than the one visible to us.  

Thus, you gather them, 
holding them in your hands, 
a quiet accumulation of time, 
a fragment of an unknown universe. 
The shells are momentary, 
their allure transient, 
wiped away once again by the tides, 
but for a brief period, 
they belong to you.  
For that transient duration, 
you possess their stories, 
their legacies, 
and you come to understand 
how much they have experienced   
how much they contain within.  

The ocean will persist in its rhythm, 
its perpetual cycle of giving and reclaiming, 
but the shells will stay, 
persistent in their stillness, 
sharing their stories with anyone 
ready to hear, 
to anyone aware 
that beauty exists 
in quiet moments, 
in the remnants left behind by the world.  

As you stroll along the shoreline, 
each step adds to your collection. 
More memories. 
More fragments of lives that thrived beneath the waters. 
And for just a fleeting instant, 
you ponder what your own narrative would convey 
if it were expressed in the dialect of shells.




©️ 2025 James Michael