Floating a heartbeat below the surface.
Smoothly rolling end over end, curling, unfolding,
Seemly dancing easily in rhythm with the swirling water and gentle winds.
What does it feel?
Are the swirls a tempest, the winds a storm?
Does the ebb and flow tear at the fibers of its veins?
What would it say?
Perhaps that creation is what it is, to all
Forces shaping both beauty and peril,
And we left to choose,
To rage against the current and the night,
Or to live the dance, a salve for the soul whose eyes fall upon us.
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