The sea is peace,

the quiet wish to still live.

A gentle father to sorrow,

its waves cradle weary hearts.

I know a great many who speak to their soul with the sea

when life is becoming too noisy.

Its gentle murmur soothes,

like a mother's fingers on your hair,

soft and timeless.

 

The sea is abundance,

a mouthful of life to all things.

It reveals endless doors,

offering endless beginnings.

It feeds the beast, the bird, the flower.

It blesses the laborer with recompense,

and in its blue boundlessness,

even the smallest fish writes its story.

 

But the sea kills also,

a beast covered in foam and rage.

It howls and tears and consumes,

grasping lives in a merciless breath.

When it confronts you, there is no bargaining—

only loss,

only the silent farewell of what was.

You never find the rock you throw into the sea.

 

The sea is the unknown,

a depth no eye can outline

no soul can call its own.

Is it grace or sorrow?

One fears what lies hidden,

yet believes in the miracles that could occur.

It keeps you in its mystery,

or pushes you into your own.

 

The sea is all,

peace and peril, life and death,

the known and the unknown.

To me,

the sea is forever.

Boundless.

Limitless.

 

Have you ever wondered?

What is the sea?