Cradling Sea

It’s mellow at first, you’re cradled

Just below the water’s surface without thirst

As it sways you; the current ensues you.

Your subtle call be supressed

By the water’s tension, by the symphony

That lunges as if it were a wave’s crest.

You’re sat, your weakness be but a jest.

Submissive are you, to its ability to move you,

But weary be you of its ability to drown you.

You and it move in unison as you fence,

Or perhaps rather it’s a dance,

Where, by consequence, neither make an advance.

Round and round a line, such harmony

Begins to build something sublime.

But the light of utter lime calls that symphony

To grow ferocious to surpass you who’s

Now indulged in water in surplus.

Call louder must you to merely match that

Wave of composure that rolls to silence you.

So soon has this respectable dance swelled

Into a frightful tempest, stoppable by not

Even a dawn who wishes to start anew with breakfast.

You and your cresting wave’s battle to be heard

Has churned your cradling sea, loud and expressive;

How beautiful a song to sing, to move the shore,

Until stirred to fight the depressive.

A composition of genuine fight and honesty,

Leave every lent ear stronger,

Colossally equipped to endure any said travesty.