It’s like a wave crashing upon you,

Where the sea meets beachhead sand,

Except the water runs cold, runs through,

And no one around to offer you a hand.


Like rolling waves ushering in a storm,

These waves crash in a never ending cycle,

Washing and eroding away the coastal form.


The waves dissipate, successively shorter,

Like the mighty waves of a tsunami,

Though remaining stronger than mortar.


Eventually these waves wash over you,

Far and few between as time runs along.


Though they never stop, always coming,

Till the day you make waves of your own.


These waves carry your lonesome grief.


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