a rolling wave of salt and water

exists in two places

sorrow and the rain’s potter

they aren’t too different if you look for the traces

of an overcast sky

reflected on wet faces

they told me to dry the tears and play in the ocean

I never saw a reason why

the shower on my face held a purpose

and the sea sang a lullaby 

for if you cried by the coast

no one could tell the difference

between the ocean below or the sorrow you host

In the end it’s all alike

you should always be quiet 

when the waves strike midnight