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The constant tides wear away the beach,
The far horizon forever out of reach,
The tired sand grains slip beneath the sea,
Choosing death, if they can't be free.
Swells subdued by relentless waves,
In lesser turmoil flatten out like paves,
To form false peace where undercurrents lie,
Building coffins for when the tall ships die.
Yet still emerging from the other side,
The beaches form in the ebbing tide,
For life and death renews a constant link,
For that which floats another one doth sink,
Those who live and those who were not born,
Shall perish daily in the perpetual storm.
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