The Bitter Grace

In times of my journeys  I will leave the Sea that keeps my soul swallowed and embark the land nearest my vessel. Though when I step to shore all I see is sand and a few palms.
Desolate for my weary ways and yet still I feel there is something for me on these lands I do embark, yet I search and find nothing and find a palm just right for my back to arch upon.
I watch the waters splash upon the shore and then roll out again and wonder how many grains of sand does it take with it and how many does it return, if any at all.
The sun not only glistens off the waters but from the sand as well and it bakes my skin as I sit and stare at what I search for not realizing what I search for is just right where it was before.
Though with the miles of water I see I see only the surface and yet still I know these waters in depth for I have been under them and in them and around them and all about them.
Salty as they are I dare not to drink for I know shall I do my blood will no longer support me and so I thirst thinking about a bottle of rum once held in my hand not meant to be had alone.
For it is the bitter grace that has shown me favour and rests my aching muscles and soothes my worn soul. For without it I am sure I would have drowned months ago.