Sometimes on a high tide
certain rules might not abide
returned from land again to ocean
one does not see any plausible reason
In the very first observation
arguably one sees no pattern
with the moving of time
somewhere in mind there strikes a rhyme
a flash of light
a glow of hope
to lay things straight
with a constant hope
the pattern is figured
the purpose served
still looms the uncertainty
observed pattern fails at infinity
Despair seeps in, one looses the power of will
Sinking in the past, making time to go standstill
imagining life to be some unbroken seal
however strong, time shall always heal