A Walk Along The Beach

Shawn Smith - July 21, 2006

Me and Walt Whitman walk along the asphalt beach of an urban seaway

The seagulls of my mind rise to new heights

As well as collecting refuse from off the soiled earth

Along the bus route of my existence

Along a winding pathway of a concrete forest

Along the parameters of my open air house of detention

Wisps of green blend together with slabs of cement

The living and the dead, the past and the present, co-existing

The flag of my country flaps away atop a tower of peace

Yet I possess no feelings of patriotism


I loaf about at the institute of higher learning

Pondering the wisdom and insights of the bards of yore

Vainly attempting to conjure up my own words of wit and wisdom

Is it for my own catharsis?

Is it an attempt to impress others?

Why, I ask, do I concern myself with what others think in the first place?

Why do I not pay heed to the promptings within my own breast?

Why do I seek to disown them when I become aware of them?

Always judging

Always being judged


I tread upon this earth in pain

Sermons, creeds, theology and the outer reaches of the universe

But who can comprehend the fathomless mind?

"And what," asks my bearded companion," is reason? and what is love? and what is life?"