The tide rolls in, the tide rolls back,
No promises made, no trail, no track.
The wind might whisper, the gulls might cry,
But the sea does not ask, nor question why.
A man may stand where the foam meets land,
Feet half-buried in shifting sand.
He may mark the line where the water ends,
But the sea does not heed, does not bend.
It swallows the footprints, it drinks the past,
It gives, it takes, it holds steadfast.
A sailor once stood on this very shore,
Thinking himself wiser than those before.
He read the waves, he charted the sky,
He tied his ropes firm, he kept his sails dry.
He thought if he measured, if he planned just right,
The sea would bow, the winds be polite.
But the sky turned black with a breathless sweep,
And the sea rose up from the endless deep.
The map was torn, the stars were gone,
And the sailor learned what the sea had known.
Life moves, and you move within it.
He fought the storm, he cursed, he swore,
He clung to the mast, he begged, he bore.
The sea did not listen, nor did it turn,
For it owed no debt, held no concern.
And so he learned, as all men must,
That the sea keeps nothing, the sea is just.
No hate, no love, no spite, no grace,
Only movement, only space.
The sea is not cruel. The sea is not kind.
It will take a man, or it will let him be,
Not out of mercy, nor enmity.
And life is no different—waves that rise,
That crash, that shift, that blind the eyes.
A man may plan, a man may strive,
But the winds will turn, the stars will dive.
And what he thinks is certain ground,
May one day drown, may one day sound.
Still—A man must sail, a man must fight,
Even knowing day turns into night.
Even knowing the sea moves anyway,
That no hand can force the waves to stay.
For what else is there?
A life spent watching the shore retreat?
A heart afraid of what it might meet?
No, better to sail, better to try,
Better to sink beneath the sky.
For if the sea forgets, if life moves fast,
Then let him be bold, let him hold fast.
Let him ride the tide, let him taste the foam,
Let him make the vastness his home.
The sea will not keep him, nor call him back,
It will not mourn, it will not track.
But it will let him go, let him be free,
To fight, to live, upon the sea.
And if he is lost, if he is gone,
No tale will mark where he sailed on.
The wind will hush, the waves will play,
And the sea will move, as it moved today.
For the sea knows no names.