The Tide of Time

The Tide of Time

I never understood
why the ocean called to me,
but year after year I returned.
Longingly, I'd gaze,
with the imperfect clarity of youth,
at its vastness —
yet never see beyond
its sun-kissed waves
nor hear its ageless song.
I wandered — helter skelter,
like a stray dog romping blindly
through shimmering sands.
Mindlessly, I chased elusive tomorrows
somewhere between
the longed-for and the what-ifs,
heedless of unforgiving time.

As fading youth
now yields to wiser years,
I walk a slower, softer path.
I linger dreamily in sun-warmed sand,
mesmerized by ceaseless waves
collapsing at my toes.
The setting sun,
like a giant, golden eye,
casts a long glare upon the shore,
and spreads its odd light
amid the glistening sand.
Minute by minute,
another day slowly slips into
the twilight of its existence.

With the imperfect clarity of age,
I watch the frothy fingers of the surf
reach again and again
over the sea-soaked beach
and drag today's remains
into the depths of eternity.
I listen to time's forever voice
drifting upon the briny breeze
and finally understand.
My life is just a blink
in the endless tide of time,
but in that fleeting blink,
I chanced to glimpse eternity.



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