I remember those days on the seawall;
wondering if the waves would come and crash
over our heads, hoping to be swept out
by the vicious tide, but only to turn back
and drift ever slowly back to the path
that haunted as the black ominous storm.

But you always stared out into that storm
and at the last second the sad seawall
was to your back, and on the brave new path
you set out, standing to the rise and crash
of the waves. “Just don’t forget to come back”
I’d scream, knowing the storm washed my words out.

I always knew not to follow you out
to the shore. You and I both knew this storm
and that the only safety was left back
at the comforting height of the seawall,
but somehow you ignored the flash and crash
of lightning set to us on a clear path.

But what if I had followed in your path?
Perhaps if I decided to walk out
to that shore, and allowed the waves to crash
at my feet, that the dark and frightening storm
would ease, the dauntingly distant seawall
no longer beckoning me to turn back.

Yet somehow it seemed simpler to turn back,
maybe it would be fair to say my path
and yours were not the same, and the seawall
could not stop you from your adventure out.
When the drop fell, were you lost to the storm?
I wished I could protect you from the crash.

Or maybe there had never been a crash…
you always seemed to find a new way back
at the gentle conclusion of the storm.
I’d see you strolling up your normal path
and the waves from the shore would follow out
to rest peacefully along the seawall.

“Maybe in the next storm…” I’d follow that path
and I will not look back to the seawall,
but out to the black cloud and blinding crash.