Sacred Poetry

Standing there, watching the ebb and flow of the tides,
The ocean - liquid eternity- stretching besides.

Walking on golden sand – footprints are left behind
A watery pen marks a line the sea-foam can find,

The marked line comes closer, recedes, moves all the time.
Washing over footprints the sea makes forever a new line.

It’s the ocean who creates-
I only follow its states.

Yet I have a choice – can do what I like
Go back to the village - to all that trive,
or step across the moving line,
merge with the ocean, become all Thyne.

Once I do – the line‘s still there, but who‘s to see?
Not me – No! Only He!