Tide, The Poem by Elbert Matt Loubser

A wakeful setting brings the light to my eyes
a crashing cacophony, peace to my ears
and with the significance of the boulders
you shall not ever understand my tearful cries

The shells make it calous, especially
scraping the surface of my den
the setting that steals the storms
and hides them fast and frantically

Theses storms that wreck offshore
Bête Noire, feeding on the pure
they fail to touch where I stand or stumble
where the waters dreamily softens the core

With the ebb and flow, turbid or tranquil
I shove this feeling, like a piquant parcel
to the sands of Low, and the lay High
comes to take the fray, to take its fill

Am I healed? -nothing of the kind:
to set aside these needles and thorns
is to grow a thornbush. In truth,
the sea is inside me, the tide is where I hide