Softly, waves break upon the shore;
like molten glass, aching, wanting more;
Inching slowly up the sandy beach;
grasping that which rests beyond its reach.

Gentle rasping of passing waves.
Rainbows born in windswept sprays.
Crystal blue, perfect as they crest;
fall to froth at gravity's behest.

Distant thunder from all sides resounds.
Waves on sharp edged cliffs do pound.
Discarded shells upon the sand are scattered,
tinkling softly as they shift and clatter.

Cries of gulls call out a harsh refrain;
circling, diving in search of game.
The ocean's music never ceases to beat,
through storms or drought or tide's retreat.

Lord Neraeos over the sea does reign;
passionate waters, life giving domain.
Yet steady as a beating heart,
the ocean from it's tempo won't depart.


Penned by my hand on the 10th of Miraman, in the year 434 AF.