The Sea is Never Still
Life—constantly changing, never static.
Waves of change come not as the tide, slow in or out,
But like the fifth wave—decisive, crashing,
Swallowing everything that came before,
Reshaping the landscape into the unknown.
The shoreline, one day, smooth and serene,
Pristine sands beneath a tranquil breeze,
A stillness disturbed only by gulls and the hush
Of gentle wavelets creeping up the shore.
Another day—ripped and guttered.
Debris trapped in divots and dents,
Sculpted by raging, salty, swirling surges—
The never-ending dumping of the ocean’s dead:
Plastic, seaweed, carcasses,
Glass, driftwood, coal-dusted sand—
Hints of lives once lived,
Now buried under the torrid blue.
Lives rich and full, now mellowed, subdued—gone,
Save for the sea-worn evidence left daily
By ever-moving, turbulent tides.
Change comes suddenly,
Like the switch between in and out.
Wind gusts catch unexpectedly,
Shifting the line off course—directionless.
Blindsided on a Tuesday afternoon,
Never repeated, never the same.
A different terrain.
A new horizon to navigate—
No compass, no stars to guide the way.
The ship of life flounders on hidden rocks,
Its belly ripped, bells ringing—
The trickery of lights on the shore,
Enticing to plunder and death,
No conscience to their hunger or need.
The sea of life—cruel, uncaring, ever-moving—
Turbulent tides of greed
Consuming the sands of time.
Living on the Edge 
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