They are the Ocean

In the light, seconds are fragile,
And speed determines
The vacancy and capacity.
                       
Pastel reincarnation of the old
Creates the lowest high-rise
Giving birth to childhood.

As light waves multiply,
Color is accustomed.
A gift from God
Is the detail given.

They are the ocean.

In the murk, masked marauders mingle.
Muffled language melts away
To never reveal their mystery.

Betwixt lone fingers of jade,
A gentle needle weaves,
Binding taut with a thread of bubbles.

As sound waves struggle,
Silence is accustomed.
Those gifts from God
Have not been given.

Taste their presence

They are the                     
Ocean.