The Wave

 

The ripple on the horizon,
the imperceptible start.
The wave comes closer,
the wave reaches higher.

Now it’s upon him,
upon the tiny surfer.
High the wave reaches,
it towers over,
it gains a crown,
a boiling white crown,
and this great monster,
cold, cruel, curving,
picks up the surfer
and is smitten a blow,
a great white gash across its chest.
In attack the wave rears higher, higher,
higher still.
The surfer rides destruction safe to shoulder.

The wave curls over,
further, further.
Up the wave
Up the the wave the surfer strives,
striking at the waves great heart,
that roaring murderous great heart.
Along the wave,
back to the curl,
in the curl to strike the heart.
The surfer rides out,
unscathed but weary,
weary all through,
though his mind is alert.

Down the wave, another great gash,
up the wave,
beating, beating,
beating the wave
till it fights still harder.
Yet the wave seems conquered,
yet the wave seems smaller
and the surfer grows careless

and the fury unleashes!
It crushes the surfer,
it envelopes his board
and the surfer is no more,
and his board is but pieces,
pieces of rubble.

The crowd on the shore,
horrified,
petrified
at the sight of the surfer,
lost to the sea.