Currents of the Infinite

I wake like surf before the sunrise,

pulled back by night, yet rising still.

A restless whisper in the dark,

the tide’s persistent will.  

No sea to call my own,

no vast expanse to hold my cry,

not even a lake to cradle dreams,

just shifting shadows passing by.  

The shore of life stands hard and silent,

testing me with years’ weight,

each grain of sand, a memory-

a fragment I cannot shape or break.  

Every dawn I break anew,

like waves upon borrowed ground,

throwing my hopes into the vastness-

destined to drown or be drowned.  

My desires circle the shore in hunger,

great leviathans beneath the tide-

whales arching in ancient grace,

sharks circling in their pride,

whirlpools twisting in hollow hands,

destined to chase what cannot be caught.  

I push, I pull, I cry-I reach-

yet they slip beyond my grasp,

fleeing like torrents through my fingers,

turning over, turning away-

a current older than my years,

a hunger deeper than the sea.  

He wakes this way as well-

the mirror of my soul,

the one I am when seen from afar-

a nameless force the dawn forgets,

a motion without a star.  

Grain by grain, we shape the edges,

hands full of foam, of slipping sand,

building towers on shifting shores-

what we create is never ours;

it passes through the palm, the land.  

My dreams are foam-white, fleeting, fragile-

crowned on waves of endless striving.

They shimmer briefly in borrowed light,

then fall like shadows, fading, dying-

hope retreating into shadow’s hush.  

All joy arrives like lightning’s scar-

a blazing flash, then only air,

a spark that lights the dark for a moment,

then vanishes without a trace.  

Life thins to bubbles on the tide-

each bright, each breaking unaware,

vanishing before the eye can hold-

a whisper of eternity in air.  

Years pass, and still the tides move-

carrying echoes of every wish,

every serpentine current,

every whirlpool, every hope.  

One ripple holds my universe-

a wave, a hush of delicate froth,

a testament to transient grace-

I am that motion, and you are too.  

We are the sea-and not the shore-

the endless flow, the silent roar,

the restless pulse that beats within,

the life that lives to move again.  

No crowns, no songs, no written pride,

no monuments to mark our days-

yet earth holds shape because we move-

the surf that breaks, the foam that stays.  

And still desire refuses rest-

it courses through me, through you, through time,

an endless, restless current-

whales arching, sharks circling,

whirlpools spinning, torrents turning-

that will not still, that will not end,

that keeps on flowing-

like life itself, eternal, unbound.