If only I had done more, been more, prayed more! 
The sand and the mud are all mixed up 
And the sun fish lie dead on the shore. 
I wonder how they gasped for air, while the
Waves beat the sand, sending ripples of 
Soothing sound through the air they couldn't breathe. 

The plastics of the tourists are crab obstacle courses, 
Once filled with juice, once desired
Now cast aside. Filth all around, and death follows. 
If only I had done more, been more, prayed more! 
The sand once a sheet of beige now is polka-dotted. 
The dye finisher botched the mix, and the chaos
Created is just plain filth, and death follows. 

I watch the Church tearing itself apart from inside
Like an infiltrated Iron-Man suit; from the inside. 

(c) nyonglema