These waves roar past, a   hundred feet tall, smashing through the rocks beneath.

Carving out a hollow space out of the stone, that in a hundred years will leave this edge

teetering and fragile.            The waves come

rolling  in, one  after another,

not even allowing one a clear view of the calm

sea. Each hit,

a thundering blast of water cannons, on the rocks that stay

still.    Un-moved,    hardened

by time. But as the days go by,

the waves quiet down. From a hundred feet,

they shrink to fifty,

thenten,

thentwo.

Until all they do is lap

against the rocks, rocking

the waters, gently pushing

towards the shore

below.            Even the footsteps left

on the sand

are slowly

ebbed

away.