she lived as a wave crashes over the salty
shore. rolling so very quick across obstacles
scattered across the seabed of life. tumultuously
pushing her way to the promise of safety
on the warm, dry sand.

her hands and knees were calloused
with the marks of thousands
upon thousands of barnacles
but these hands retained a tenderness
only a long-time lover of the sea could posses
after years of salt watered skin.

sometimes when the waves would roll
she would get through the storm by dreaming
of when it would finally crest
and she would fall into sweet release
and temporary recession.

she was plagued with the promise,
or the ever-pressing hope that one night
the scars would vanish and she
would ride the tide without fear of crashing
hard against the rocks.

she didn't mind the weather but the troubling
memory of the storm and the wailing
winds of her past echoed in her ears. she wished
to be a stream that could wash
away when the rain stopped falling.

a seafarer must survive any storm
to be successful in their endeavours
and though she may lose herself in the sea of time
she will soon again wash up onto the safety
of the salty seashore.