Crimson Tide
The waters on the beach slowly ebbed to and fro, to and fro, the incessant rhythm from times immemorial, to and fro.
Slowly, slowly filling and receding, back and forth, back and forth.
The summer sun warmed the waters below, mingling the red hue given to it by the blood spilt here on this day.
To and fro, to and fro, back and forth, to and fro.
The silent body of crimson streaked waters solemnly kept its cadence for the memory of the lost at this place; the souls of men, young men, old enough to die but too young to know, to know the truth of the mayhem unleashed here today, that rocked this Island beach and its inhabitants for all time.
The mystery of when now solved, the knowledge of place long known, the reasons still illuding many or most if not all, but those who issue the orders for others to tread where they dare not go.
A pall of death lay over the area as if covering the scene before them could remove the treachery played out here today.
Bodies still warm from the efforts made and the unending heat of the sun’s rays, upon their lifeless remains will stay.
“Oh God, oh God why hast thou forsaken me.”
This cry to the heavens which surely rests above, or at least hopefully it does for without a heaven then this, this … hell has no meaning, no purpose other than to proclaim victory for the “evil one,” it’s darkness remaining as a veil, a vain attempt to cover this scarlet field of foolish folly for this day and for all time.
The tide slowly ebbs, to and fro, to and fro, the crimson sands remit deaths echo, to and fro, to and fro, on this day and all days still waiting to come, still waiting for that day ahead, for the day of salvation yet to come.
When Synapses Go Bad 