White, foamy brine of life.
Churning, crushing, seething and tossing
And in the frothy, bubbly waves
life eventually emerges.
Rushing, ebbing and receding
Playful, carefree and with wanton glee
The waves cleanses the sand of dirt and grime
What is soiled and filthy is crashed and churned
Back into clean and clear whiteness
Rough edges polished out of pebbles and stones
Gritty bits of rock are pulverized into fine powder.
Sometimes the waves coax the dark winds to turn into gales.
The waters above turn black but the heads of the waves
Remain foamy white, still gleeful and full if life.
The waves will always rush to shore
Sometimes gently, sometimes ferociously
But always, churning out with creative force,
Auguring the birth of life and the sound of joy
In their foamy and briny wake of white.