Platinum Shores

Just a short poem

Far o'er the platinum shores,

Lies my wakening, the doors,

to who I am, to who I will be,

What will become of little old me,

When the tide comes in, and washes away

The marks that you and I made as we played,

Together in the sand, together in the moment.

As before I could make that needed atonement,

My hands slipped from yours,

And you walked out those doors.