Like the tides of the ocean,
her spirit will rise and then fall.
High tide roars swirling waters
onto a lonely beach.
Her spirit washes to shore,
and digs into the white sand.
Catching her breath,
holding hands with the earth,
the spirit rejoices in a moment
away from rough waters.
There, just beyond the reach of the ocean's daunting grip,
peace is found.
Hope is again possible.
With cadence, the pulsing waters
creep back into the distance,
each hissing lunge of the nautical hand
a little less frightening than the last,
until the roll of the cowering tide
becomes a metronome,
whispering rhythmically in her ear.
"You are safe now, but I will come for you again."
The spirit knows this tranquil rest is temporary.
The insatiable tide will return
and rip her into his wild, rushing waves.
He will crash her against his rocks,
push her deep into his suffocating grip,
swirling her around
until the ocean floor resembles the sky.
And just before he breaks her,
he will once again spit her back onto the lonely beach.
Rise and fall, hope and fear, peace and pain,
these are the rhythms of her spirit.
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