Wondering during Atonement Day or Writer's Block III

So I walked softly
Through the sinful city,
Now silent for the
Agreed upon duration;
Hoping to find inspiration at its mer
I could only find there myself.

The sand is soft and white;
It graters at my skin
Trying desperately to find
A more suitable position.
That salty smell of froth and starfish
Evokes a longing I cannot accurately recall.
Instead, I’m filled with the usual trepidations
Of being.

The sea does not seem a worthy cure for my woes,
Or, perhaps, I am not worthy of the sea.
In here I feel like a second grain, or perhaps a fourth,
Just like in real life.
The sea cannot save me;
Perhaps the rain can.

Afterimage -
The roll of the waves
And its vast thunder
Shall remain with me
Even ere I am torn asunder.