Calangute Blues...

Left, after right,
prints in the sand,
walking over the promised land,
I look ahead,
But can't help looking back,
and a pattern repeats,
In my head and with my feet,
I look as far back as a I can,
As far as a solitary man,
Can without losing his mind,
his identity and turning blind.

The prints are numerous,
They leave and then return,
But i never learn,
Two sets and then just one,
I stumble, again and again....

And then the lights come back on,
and i look up and see the figures,
Dark outlines against a blinding light,
Laughing, jeering, cheering at my plight,
As they watch and slight,
My every effort to get back up.

Lying there I look back again,
And watch the surf sweep onto the sand,
cover every open wound, the pain,
and freeze for an instant,
a minute, a year, an eternity,
and then sweep back,
leaving nothing but an empty canvas,
no history, no footprints,
no dark outlines, no memories,
just a new beginning,
and life goes on. Again.