They say time is like the sea
But I wonder how could that be?
How could seconds compare to waves corroding shore
when time is new and the sea is a creature of old lore?
Rhythmic, lapping waves seem to beckon me.
Incessant, tapping ticks seem to discourage me.
The sea is like a lover whose sweet word haunts
whereas time is like a thief, taking what it wants.
To be enraptured by time, or enraptured by the seas
are two very different ways of suffering, to be.
For drowning in blue haze—
—Or wheezing with old age,
are irrefutably distinct fates, you see.
Yet still they say, time is like the sea.