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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.
