Gray and lifeless the ocean washes
Like liquid fingers it tries to reach
As the sand walls and reefs collapse
The stench of decay, human waste
Confuse my senses
And the view before me
Is lost in the rise of the tide
Waves consume the disappearing shore
An ocean moves inexorably
Covering the beach
The seagulls above us fly
Upon the wind they soar
As I ask what is the point
Just because I seek
I long to know
What is the point of this anyway?
A powerful attraction, an impulse
So long as there has been an ocean
There have been tides, and the rhythm
As dry land is shaped by the pulse
As much from retreat as forward
And now they retreat
The movement of the waves
Is comfort
Is powerful
The pull is unstoppable
As with the interplay
Between wet and dry
Between life and death
Between perfection and waste
“The world is always dying and always coming back to life. Tide and pulse, and with the turn of the tide a touch of mystery.”
