No Shore in Sight

It’s like how whitecaps miss a loud coastline,

A swell, a surge, alone through vast expanse

Of ocean, deep, dark murk oozing with brine;

Partners of absent cliffs in a strange dance.

Breakers beat erosion rhythms below,

The teeming current is void of all life

As gyres ebb and flood in undertow,

Where pollutants mark the struggle and strife.

Riptide then drift—drift as fluid hands wave

Goodbye, follow the dying ripples far;

To lose the wake and fumble chance to save,

Above no guiding star, only broke spar.

Turn hard to port it’s time to navigate

Away from here, away to a new fate.