I stare from a small wall
Forty feet above the sea
It stands as a lonely sentinel
Protecting the unsuspecting
From an ugly plunge to a beautiful
Rugged boulder-strewn beach.
The merciless surf
Pounds unyielding jagged rocks
The latter gives no quarter
Breaking up the attack
Forcing even the mightiest waves
To eventually retreat
Regroup then strike again.
I never tire of experiencing
Such epic battles.
Though it seems the rocks
Win each day,
The waves are patient,
Unrelenting.
It seems only a matter of time,
Eons perhaps,
Before the waves win,
Grind the great boulders
Into tiny grains of sand.
But perhaps instead
Several centuries from now
The sea may recede,
Surrendering at least for a time.
Then the boulders
Will reclaim their brethren
From the briny depths.
I think such thoughts
And wonder at the spectacle
As I stand at a small wall
Forty feet above the sea
Knowing I will be long dead and gone
Returned to my own ashes and dust
Before the answer
As to which will be the victor
Is revealed.
With Love,
Russ
© Copyright 2016 Russ Towne
All Rights Reserved
