Upon the shores she stood,

Eyes searching the deep sea

And landing on a piece of driftwood

That bobbed where she thought dear uncle may be

 

She waved to him with one hand

Other clutching a jar with a simple carving

The ocean crashed onto the sand

The waves washed away the bodies of the starving

 

Their bones littered the beach

And spears were stuck in the trees

Maggots feasted on limbs where swords dared to breach

And covered the blackened bodies of the diseased

 

She traced a holy symbol on the ground

A hand laid on her back, pressure sweet

For waves had washed away the hateful, drowned

Yet the war and famine and newfound death were not yet obsolete

 

She waved again to the ocean

And took the hand and walked across the slope

To where she lived in forgiveness despite her notion

That she had not released hope

 

But the clattering noise in her jar

Was not of hope as she believed

For that had been spread wide and far

As everyday it was given and received

 

But rather

It was a piece of that hope

A small piece of sea glass

Stuck in the jar

That

She refused

To ever open

Again.