My skirt caught the edge of the tide
one one thousand
two one thousand
and it tugged gently
but insistently
every so insistently
to the gentle rhythmic pulsations of the sea
deep and untouched with melodies virgin to
shut ears

That’s what life is, really
in its essence
without a garnish to hide its bleak bland taste
It is a crest that we ride
but do not maneuver
and it tugs us as we tug back
fighting the pull we have been predestined to
drift with
anonymous: and into the sea.

I have taken the liberty to build a raft
however
that will spare me from one cataclysmic tide
and the other
all tugging on my limbs, a fight primordial, within.
But it does not spare me from decay
because salt corrodes
and I am only flesh and bone
wood and stone

I cannot change the course of waves
Just the way I approach them
Helpless and menial
I build away, anyway -
Knowing it will be torn asunder
soon enough

Such is our lot in life.