The Strength of the Ocean

I’ve always admired the ocean for its strength.
Now you might be wondering—
what strength could an ocean have?

It’s the strength to hold control,
to rush toward the edge
and pull itself back again and again.

The strength to dance with chaos,
to crash, to roar, to break—
yet still return,
still know where it belongs no matter what it takes.

It rises with the moon,
falls with the sun—
never questions the pull,
never fights the tide.

There’s a lesson in its rhythm:
to feel everything deeply,
but not be swept away.

To reach for the shore,
but know when to let go.

To love with force,
to lose with grace,
to endure the shifting winds
and still remain whole and stay in control.

But even oceans have their days,

when calm gives way to tidal waves.

If I should crash beyond my lines,

no gentle pull, no measured signs—

when force outruns what I can hold,

and chaos surges, fierce and bold.

Then everything will bend and break,

the earth will tremble, rivers shake.

A power vast, a force untamed,

no edge, no border, no one blamed.

Yet after ruin, still I know—

the tide will pull me back below.

For even storms must pass and fade,

and calm will follow all that’s swayed.

So I go back to where I belong,

in currents deep, in rhythms strong.

The winds grow soft, the waters slow,

the tide restores its gentle flow.

Debris will drift, the skies will clear,

what once seemed lost will reappear.

For strength is not to never break,

but knowing how to bend, remake.

The ocean breathes — it yields, it mends,

it crashes, weeps — and still transcends.

So when I falter, when I fall,

I’ll heed the ocean’s ancient call:

To rise again, restore my grace,

and meet the shore with calm embrace.