I keep thinking how did I come to this
Lying on a beach bored and insignificant.
Everyday the same, the tide my only diversion,
And sand shifting over me wet and dry,
I should have listened to that soothsayer
Who talked about reincarnation and liberation,
Who foretold I’d become no more than a shell
In my search for untold riches and lost my soul.
I laughed and scoffed at his foolish nonsense.
As a joke I even bought a shell at the beach
To remind me of that ridiculous soothsayer.
I died days later holding that shell in my hand
And woke up cognizant of my new, empty life
Lying on this boring, sandy shore as a shell.
Perhaps this is what’s called a living hell.

Bob Boyd