Outside the shell, the waves rise,
And crash against the shore,
Kiss the lone rocks and roar,
Trying to drown the noise
Of thunder. Outside the shell,
The slowly shifting sands,
Rub themselves against it.
And when the waves and the sand meet,
The magic sound that no man can make
Is made.

Inside the shell, there is nothing but silence,
And dull doomed darkness.
Time stands still. The timeless void
Speaks of the life it once held,
Speaks of the grief, of the fear
That it will never die.

The shell dreams…
Dreams of possessing
The Five Senses. Dreams of seeing
The earth and the blue sky,
Of hearing the sounds of the sea
Of which it was born.
Of smelling not it’s own musty odour,
But the sweet, fresh air.
Of tasting the salt of the waves,
Of feeling life.

If the sea and the sand
Gave their shell away to you,
(Along with a dozen others),
Will the shell be born again
Into a new life of love and delight?
Will it sense the seven keys of life?
Or will it begin to crumble,
Deprived of the reason to live?
Will its soul rot
Until there is nothing left?

Without their shell, the waves and the shore
On meeting, would not make sweet harmony…
Their hearts would feel
A vague sense of loss…
The sand would sink into itself,
And the sea would storm the land
With increased fury.