Between the Roar
The waves, they rage, a chorus untamed,
Yet the path persists, narrow and unnamed.
No cries for triumph, no shouts for the brave,
Just the soft rhythm of steps through the grave.
The ocean is memory, ancient and deep,
It stirs the forgotten, the dreams we keep.
The figure is neither conqueror nor king,
But a seeker of truths the silence might bring.
What is courage but the act of staying,
Amid the torrents, the endless swaying?
To walk between forces that clash and collide,
Is to face the vastness, unarmed, untried.
Not every journey has a shore to meet,
Not every battle must end in defeat.
The roar of the water is not to be stilled,
But heard and embraced, the void it has filled.
This is the story of walking the line,
Where the finite meets the divine.
Neither to master, nor to control—
But to walk, and in walking, know the soul.