The Beach

Down to the beach of golden sand,
I walked with a small stick,
The tide was out, the sun was low,
I knew I had to be quick.

I found a piece of untouched sand,
That the tide had washed so clean,
It glistened in the morning sun,
It sparkled and shimmered it seemed.

I used the stick and started to write.
Those heavy words that had held me back,
All the things that I had to let go,
My troubles, my worries, my lack.

Before too long I had filled that beach,
Down by the water’s edge,
I walked back to soak up the view,
Of all my words etched in black.

The sun rose up, the waves rushed in,
And covered my words that day,
God took my story of my sin,
And washed it all away.

The tide groaned out, the sun sank low,
And on that golden shore,
The sand was untouched by human hands,
The story of sin was no more.