I’d like to idle with you as a rock
but you’re the sea and moving constantly.
One day I asked to sit in quiet: talk,
you didn’t want to think, but crash and be

the ocean (thoughtless filled with life), a wave
(a moment on the shore, or rock away).
I am that rock; you taunt me, and i crave
to be the sand swept up in sea, to sway

in your finicky storm. I’m not a stone,
but the sand I wished to be. Your song
is hazardous, monotonous. A drone
of boats I cannot hear sails on.  

You are the silent siren, of the sea
who breaks all men from stone to sand ennui.