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Poem

I wonder in the quiet of the waves,
if dreams I hold are real as waters deep.
The path I walk—was it ever mine at all,
or am I drifting, caught in currents’ flow?

I am both sailor and the storm’s dark face,
the one who steers yet fights against the pull.
I lift myself yet fall, as tide allows,
and love holds light that fades like salt’s harsh sting.

Each wave pulls forward, back a paradox,
my compass spinning wildly, though I steer.
I drift, I grind, I grow, a force unknown,
the face I glimpse a stranger's, veiled in night.

These waters hold both fury and release,
a restless churn, a voice beneath the waves.
I push myself to rise above, yet still
the ocean calls, “Is this all you would be?”

But in each wave, I’ve ridden, storms I’ve braved,
I see both beauty, burden, bound as one.
Peace lies not in the sea’s retreating edge,
but in the calm, I carry from within.

I am both broken and yet made anew,
a mosaic of shores both lost and found.
The weight feels lighter now that I can see
this journey was my own to chart and own.

I walk forward, no longer cast adrift,
a captain, not of calm but of my tides.
The storm now whispers, waves a memory,
and in the quiet, I find my own true north.

For every wave I’ve braved, I hold a light,
and step, not timid, but steady, to shore
knowing I am both tide and timeless stone.

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