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Born to Die

Waves roll slowly, onto an empty shore,

wash clean the pebbles and the sand,

whilst white foam bubbles, mark

an evaporating monument to their journey's end.

Freely dancing on the open water,

light, from the sleepy harbour, reflects

As the facets of a cut jewel glisten

into the gem cutter's eye.

No mourners in melancholic song,

lament the sea's daily demise.

No memorial service is convened,

as the tide slows, then dies.

Bright blue waters of the day,

dress somberly in the pitch of night,

respecting those already lost,

sympathetically for those to die.

Gentle lapping, knocking, against the moored craft,

In a vain hope to stir even one human tear,

Only Posiden speaks a eulogy for the

Waves that roll slowly, onto an empty shore.

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