Waves of dusty past, crushing against my shore
With foam half white, unevenly widely spread
And thunderous squashing of half heard yore
That write on my sand some words barely read.
Algae of half forgotten, dismantled trust
Cling every now and then to my coastal rocks
A frothy mass of love, hate, fear and lust
Messing with the speed of hands in my clocks.
This stormy sea, that rarely boils and smashes
My sand and rocks, besides my doors and locks
Summons old renewed memories and flashes,
And brings turbulent waters in my calm docks.
So great, my mountains I behold and see,
When my back I turn, to my turbulent sea.
