Beached whales are merely
Lost souls in need for a savior.

Encoding the sand;
A guilty fingerprint.
They are imprisoned in the innocent open without the key.

The cure is clearly visible, cool and refreshing.
But only their tails pierce the water's skin.
The sun beats long and arid
And their massive bodies ache for cleansing.

Attempting to escape
from their imprinted graves
Waxes futile.
Their exhaustive tears the only taste of water they can claim.

With the compromise of death comes the comfort of sleep.
Hope gone, will-power drained.
As they cry for release,
Men cloaked in crimson T-shirts come in hordes,
Promising deliverance.

A quiet man stroking one giant's leathery skin
As the majority heave them from impending death,
Restoring life as they knew and loved it.


Grateful,
Penitent moans heard echoing through the waves.