Sisyphean, the waves assail the cliffs
Singularly enacting the only virtue found within their vocabulary
Countless generations dash themselves against ancient magma
Its genius, having once reshaped the very boundaries of thought
Now lying cool and immutable

Ceaselessly, the waves work to uncover lost meaning underneath
Forgotten in detail but remembered as a long-lost friend
That which once provided ontology, cosmology, faith
Now lost to the violent eruption of passion
The work of a moment, long gone, soon to come

Striving, the waves define themselves against the rocks
Wasting themselves trying to get beyond what can be said, thought, or felt
Yet slowly having an effect all the same, uncovering lost meaning, newly understood
Thus occupied, they fail to notice the wind or the moon
Blind even to the sun, they crash, crash, crash, crash