The Sea

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John Banville once wrote a novel
It's called The Sea
Where allegories of crashing waves
And tumultous lives are pictured to find rest 
When they reach the shores
Forming transient froth and bubbles
Like memories appearing so clearly
Until they vanish with another crashing of waves
Memories come and go
Like small ripples on the shore 
Ever advancing and retreating
Bathing the sand 
I'm playing with my feet
I try to confront the crashing of waves
Dissipating all the memories
Of a tumultuous life
Only to find its fragments
In the small bubbles and froth
Foaming albeit fleeting ashore
They are lovely to look at
Those small, white bubbles
But they are the byproduct
Of so much agitation and beating.
How wonderful it is to find beauty
In the remains of anxiety
No matter how fleeting


No matter how momentary.

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