The ocean can be gentle currents,
Which frolic against the shore like a handful of serpents.
It encompasses and dances along the land,
Carving pictures amongst each grain of sand.
The ocean can be frightful torrents,
Sprouted from red hot cores of the ocean floor.
Crashing and booming like a gunshot in the distance,
One can’t help but wonder about its damaging persistence.
The ocean can be tiny whispers,
Drowned by the laughing of the passing sisters.
The ocean air settling on the tongue,
A nostalgic sensation portraying the young.
The ocean can be still as if finally freed,
Yet, reality is only entangled in a reef full of seaweed.
Like ancient sunken gold,
That choke in what was foretold.
It is the most faithful companion I have ever earned,
Only dissipating from the fear to be eventually burned.
Undesirable but loyal, always accompanying me,
Away to the outskirts in spite of the irony.