The wash of surf is like no other sound—
It rises and it falls, like deep wet breathing.
The steady splashes as it licks the ground:
An endless whoosh, part softness and part seething.
Out of the deep a small wave will appear,
A messenger shrugged from the ocean floor.
It’s born who knows how far away from here,
And crests before it dies upon this shore.
The reason why it washes on the beach:
To feed the tide’s advance or its decline.
Its brief life has just one lesson to teach:
From surface act rises the deep design.So if I’m just a wave upon Life’s sea,
Then let my deeds echo the deep in me.
Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells