Life seems an odd cycle amid the waves, roiling and falling,
crashing amid the surf and undertow.
Pulling you down and sucking the breath from your lungs
until the briefest moment when you're sure you've died.
Only to be thrown back up into the foam, gasping for air and
realizing you're painfully still alive and shattered.
Burning from the salt and blurry, striving to get blood back
Roll on waters, roll on, and carry me with you
Crushed against the onslaught, but aren't we all?
For what more are our lives but the sand carried on the currents
Savagely wrought and worn down by torment and splash, eroded and changed
So cold and so broken against the rock, unable to stop the waves
Pounding me smaller, insurmountably multiplying my insignificance
as I'm forced to fit amid the endless beach
Until suddenly am I really anything anymore, my tiny form there with
their tiny form
Sand on sand, homogeneous and faceless beneath the ocean's hand.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Severin, in the year 133 MA.