Shell Scavenger

He's an old man, limping along the beach.
Long ago hurt by life and war, leg torn
In vicious, metal scissor cuts into paper flesh.
He stares at the ground, watching as shell-like
Fleeting moments pass by. The surf collides with
His worn leather sandals, grit grating at his calloused
Grimy feet. Hawk-like birds fly overhead, about to
Feast on their injured prey in his sandals.

He stops. The sand grinds his bones as he bends,
Reaching towards a shell, one of so many crushed
Under his endless footsteps. Fractured, cracked. A curled,
Ridged tendril of bone, defeated in a war of stones
As he had been in a war of guns and bombs.
He raises it to the sky to see it against his old hands
With his weak eyes, see its beauty. A breath of wind
And it is gone, a tear of blood lingering in his palm.