Dismal

Under moonlit skies, I find myself once again. Sitting on the ocean wall, my hands resting and experiencing the roughness of the cold cement beneath them. My feet dangling over the edge, swinging back and forth with no ground to comfortably rest upon. The intensity of the waves below dare to consume me with one swift movement. In and out, the tide arrives, then flees just as fast as it once came. I wonder as I watch the water sway back and forth, will the ocean ever make up its mind? All of this rising and falling, does it ever grow weary? Does it ever want to stand still for just a moment? At the surface it seems like it only inhibits two sides. The high and the low, the meek and the wicked. I suppose in a sense one could call the sea "Bipolar". In high tide, all of the rocks, creatures, shells, and the clutter is hidden beneath the surface. It has a calm and docile tone. You can not see the muddle nor the confining dissaray underneath. In low tide, it reveals the horde of the phantoms below. living things wedged halfway in the sand, each squirming in the blaring sunlight, desolately struggling for their fragile lives. Many may think, "how could one see the ocean in such a dismal way?" Well I can. Because I know both sides in rather a mundane manner. I have been to the depths of the ocean, and I have seen the other side.