Waves, waves, waves, waves and waves,
they hit the shores all day
all over the world
making cliffs over lifetimes of me,
making music, swashing, crashing,
every coast on all the seas.

So what does it mean,
this constant barrage of ocean hitting beach,
the cool waters of nature an
ancient planet whose air we cannot breath?

And yet the waves remain the same,
never changing, only waiting
for the surfer on the beach,
suiting up, waxing his board
and searching for the
first wave.

I've watched waves in different mental states,
contemplated death as a primary factor of life
and seen faces in the cliffs,
but never thought I'd be here today,
underneath the trundling fog,
admiring the stubborn waves.

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