tranquil like the ocean at dusk
in tune with the push and pull of the moon
and when the sea breeze comes smelling of musk,
it curls and whispers into my ear 'soon'

and when I hear it I recall when I once felt relief,
not really looking nor thinking that the next day
it would shift and turn into an overwhelming grief;
how it then felt as if what was torn hadn't been my trust–
but rather a broken wing and I am then hit with dismay

and oh do I wish it true that tranquil came from the sun;
the chaotic yet elegant embodiment of a pandemonium
yet I do know that if it came to be so then it means they have won
not from their very best but from my bare minimum

it cripples me with guilt and riddles me with tears
how it changed so drastically within the coming and going of a year
and the tranquil ocean that was myself formed into a raging lava that sears
and only then do I truly realize what those very foes I spoke of fear