Water

When they reach the water, a small white boat approaches. Two silhouettes appear and wave. They have an uncanny quality. They appear almost transparent as if they were reflections of their observers.

The nameless one hesitates, dropping the Prince's hand and mutters the name "Merce". He seems lost for a moment, almost removed as he repeats the word over and over to himself. "I can't see who it is" says Le Petit Prince looking out at the boat, squinting in the sunlight. "Shall we call to them?".





I am the sailor, the man of the sea. Here, riding the going tide, i fish for my dinner. Free to all, free to the meek; for the rich and unjust liars of the world, will crumble with the walls of Babylon. Freedom on the ocean tide, as it refreshes the steped upon sand with the face of refreshed truth. Never can the steps of the liar exist on that beach. 12-31-1997 8:31 Ripplemist@aol.com

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