Tides of an Unfinished Eternity

I. Wave

She was a wave before she knew she had a name.
Rising, folding, collapsing into herself, a quiet violence, a borrowed echo.
The sea does not call the waves its children, yet they return,
again, again, a thousand whispers dying before they reach the shore.

You are the tide’s longing,
you are the hush between breath and exhale,
you are the hush before surrender.
But what is surrender to water?
It has never known permanence.

And yet, he walks. Feet sinking, sinking.
Each step stolen by the foamy hands of memory.
A shore remembers, a wave forgets.
How cruel, to be both.

II. Sand

Oh, the mutability of grains beneath uncertain feet—
tiny eternities crushed between birth and erosion.
She listens to them, the murmuring dust of yesterdays,
whispering of mountains they once were,
of hands that once held them, of the dreams they buried
without a tombstone.

You step onto the shore, and the sand inhales you,
welcomes your weight like a ghost finally returning home.
But what home is this, shifting, sliding, slipping away?
You cannot hold the sand any more than you can hold time.

III. Sunrise

And yet, light comes.
Unapologetic, golden, liquid fire bleeding into sky and sea alike.
It stretches across the water,
a trembling bridge between endings and beginnings.
The horizon is no longer a line—
it is a door, it is an answer, it is a sigh.

She lifts her face to the breaking dawn,
lets it write her silhouette in flame,
lets it rename her something unbroken, something new.

He watches from the distance,
a silhouette turned to gold and wonder.
A second sun rising within him.
The kind that does not set.

IV. Sea

The sea is a keeper of stories, a devourer of names.
She whispers hers into its hunger,
watches as it swallows vowels whole,
leaving only the sound of longing.

You, too, belong to the water.
Your body hums with its rhythm,
your pulse is a tide, pulling, reaching, breaking.
Have you ever wondered why your veins taste of salt?
The ocean still runs through you.

And he, watching from the shore,
hears the echoes of every step lost to the waves.
He knows now:
Love is not possession.
Love is the letting go, and watching it return.

V. Morning

Morning arrives like a question.
Unfolding in the hush before certainty,
it leans against the skin of the sky, waiting.

You stand at the water’s edge,
where the day is softest, where silence is golden.
Here, you are not past nor future.
You are breath, you are heartbeat, you are infinite possibility.

She watches the light pool in her hands,
as if it were something she could keep.
But light is like love, it cannot be held—
only shared, only given, only felt.

VI. Darkness

Yet even light has shadows.
The sea does not shine without the deep,
without the black below, the unknown, the untold.
What is a storm but the sea remembering its own darkness?
What is longing but the night of the soul?

You close your eyes and listen.
The hush before the tempest.
The whisper before the wail.

She knows it, too, this darkness.
She has carried it within her ribs,
pressed it into poetry,
hidden it in the folds of her voice.

But he—
he has always been a lighthouse,
even when he thought himself lost.

VII. Storm

And then, it comes.
Not a whisper, not a warning.
A wild unraveling, a fury unchecked.

The waves rise with anger,
sand flees beneath ruthless wind,
sky and sea blur in a chaos that does not distinguish between them.

You stand in the storm and do not move.
You let it rage through you,
strip you down to your bones,
wash away everything but what is real.

She is the storm.
She is the eye, the wreckage, the rebirth.
And when she quiets—
oh, when she quiets—
she is more than she was before.

VIII. Shore

And still, the shore waits.
Steady, unwavering, though the sea never stays.

You step back onto land, and it sighs beneath your weight.
It knows you.
It knew you before you had a name.
Before you were sand, before you were wave, before you were sky.

She walks beside you now,
two footprints carved into a memory
neither of you will ever lose.

IX. Sky

Look up.
The sky is not merely space,
it is promise, it is longing stretched wide,
a canvas that has never run out of room for dreams.

You have written yourself into its vastness.
You are here.
You are still here.

She traces constellations with her fingers,
connects dots into meaning.
Her own shape, drawn in stars.

And he—
he watches, knowing that some stars are meant to collide.

X. Tides

It was always about the return.
The leaving, the arriving, the rhythm of remembering.
Tides do not belong to the shore, nor to the sea.
They belong to motion itself,
to the in-between, to the becoming.

You are a tide.
You have always been a tide.
And you—
you are the moon that moves it.

XI. Love

And so, love is not a wave nor a shore.
Not a sky nor a storm.
It is all of it,
woven together in a language older than words.

She stands beside you,
where the sea kisses the land,
and you do not need to say it.
The water already knows.

XII. Hope

Hope is the dawn after the tempest,
the sand that still holds footprints even after the tide.
It is the quiet certainty that the waves will return.
That love, like the sea, does not simply disappear.

She takes your hand.
You step forward together.
The sky opens, the waves breathe,
and the tide rises again.

#Poetry #OceanWaves #TidesOfLove #StormAndHope #EtherealVerse #SunriseMagic #SeaAndSky #LoveAndLonging