Poetry - Glass Beach

Glass Beach

We drive between rusted relics.
If they were people
They would be seniors

Bent over canes.
The metal industrial structures

Look lonely and abandoned,
But I think are still being used.

At the end of the pavement
There is no sign.
No name of a beach ahead.
No admonishment to stop,
Turn around or dead end.
Nothing. Just a strip of brick red dirt.

Deeply rutted and
Not maintained,
We gently drive our car
Onto the uneven path.
We are bumped and jostled
Like on a Tilt-A-Whirl.

The view opens and
The ride is forgotten.
Ahead is a hidden beach, 
A beach with a secret.
A secret I wouldn't know
Without the help of my guide.

Here you don't just
Walk in the sand.
You sit, you bend, you peer closely.
A Zen patience is needed.
The eyes must adjust and
Zoom in for the magic.

The beach isn't actually
A strip of sand framed by lava rocks.
The beach was created from
Broken and tossed,
Wave worn and polished
Bits of - wait for it - GLASS!

Looking closely and
Sifting the tiny beads
Through your fingers,
You find vibrant colors -

Amber and white and green and clear,
Small and unique shapes.

And if you are really lucky
And take your time
You might find brilliant blue.
Fragile and most rare,
They are tiny dots hidden
In a prismatic rainbow of hues.

Since this visit
I have researched this beach.
I have viewed the old photos
Where the shards were larger
And the beach more colorful.
But the internet changed all that.

It has been combed by hordes
Who stripped it down
To just the smallest pieces.
A tragedy of the digital age
That cannot be reversed.
But it is still magical.

If you are lucky enough
To find a guide
Who can bring you to
This magical shore.
Prepare to relax and allow
Your world to become small.

Let your eye zero in.
Let the colors delight.
Enjoy the wonder of
A beach created from glass.
And when you leave,
Take only a tiny token.