Slapton Sands

Hand on the throttle

Mind racing the road

The corners twist and bend

Running right through

The crevices of my brain

Entwining themselves within its muscle

The sand whips up a storm

On the beach I sit at

While the waves come creeping in

Teasing to reach my boots

A lone man walks to the end of the beach

In search of his thoughts

While I count every grain of sand

In my palm

Looking for God