If you could only stare out at an ocean, things would seem more…What? The water laps with power, more powerful than you, for certain, but, joyfully, more powerful than the bill collectors knocking, or your boss bitching, or the cancer tick-tocking, the heart stopping.
Who knows when the time will come? Not the ocean. Its timelessness says…What? That you crawled out of it once and will be there again. Comforted by the sound of nature, the sky’s tears or a worm kicked up by the storm. This says…What? That everything gets tilled up by a plow. That everything gets washed away.
Timeless and comforting. That no one calls. No one comes. The ocean can be next to your toes, or hundreds of miles to a distant coast, and nothing changes. The ocean's not cleaning your toes tomorrow. So you'll have to head home to the foot board. Tie your sandals to a post. Hang up your flag of surrender. [...]
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Who knows when the time will come? Not the ocean. Its timelessness says…What? That you crawled out of it once and will be there again. Comforted by the sound of nature, the sky’s tears or a worm kicked up by the storm. This says…What? That everything gets tilled up by a plow. That everything gets washed away.
Timeless and comforting. That no one calls. No one comes. The ocean can be next to your toes, or hundreds of miles to a distant coast, and nothing changes. The ocean's not cleaning your toes tomorrow. So you'll have to head home to the foot board. Tie your sandals to a post. Hang up your flag of surrender. [...]