The Shore
This poem explores the timeless dance between the restless waves of life and the steady presence that witnesses them.
The waves come and go,
crashing, folding, rushing —
never resting, never still.
Sometimes the wave rises like a giant,
crushing the shore in quiet thunder,
and other times it softens with moonlight,
tides of silver and shadow,
arriving, dissolving,
whispering secrets the sea never speaks aloud.
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Once, long ago,
the shore would resist.
It would rise against the tide,
trying to grasp a softer one,
or forbid a giant wave from forming —
stirring unrest in the ocean itself,
as if the sea could be stilled.
The shore tried to leave —
tried to peel itself from the salt-breath of the sea,
to retreat from the endless voice of the waves.
It dreamed of silence,
of being dry, untouched,
somewhere far from the pull of tides.
But now, it does not resist.
It watches, a witness.
It simply stands — steady.
Not hollow, not cold,
but whole.
The tide rises.
The tide falls.
And it remains,
quiet as the space
between each wave —
the place they break,
but never reach.
