To The Sea

The waves grew relentlessly on the horizon, forming little capsuls of escape. Like wounded soldiers, they fell over one another, fighting for the shore and struggling for retreat. The cries of the ocean sweapt across the sand and burried themselves beneath the swell, but their sting lingered in the salty air. The sway of the water moved through itself, unconsciously forming a pattern of contradiction; moving out, and pulling itself back in. A small current formed from the wind's heavy blows and the surfacing waves gave way to its persuasive means. For a moment, as the waves settled and began to form, the ocean floor was left exposed, like a forgotten child in the cold. And with a swift rising, the surf crashed down on the bare reef, once again concealing its secrets and swadling its doubts. Along the shore the water rolled desperately over the discarded shells in a hungry effort, pulling the sand towards its core. The efforts of the ocean remained futile, and a routine of strainful tension formed. But with a heavy heart the waves continued to crash, just as the swell refused to lessen, all for the promise of exhaustion and possibility of greatness. All the while the sky laughed and the trees swayed in ignorance, never having uncovered the secrets of the sea.