Sensing depths and currents,
feeling tug of rip and tide,
rising upward waves of power,
breaking chaos of despond,
moving global swirl
forcing beyond reach.

The calm is troubled.
The troubled, calm

Plaything of sandy beaches,
Proffering the safest ports,
Yet even the mildest wavelets
grind pebbles into sand

To listen, but not learn.
To hear, but not to understand.
To feel, but not be hurt.

Is this the sea of mine?