There’s a little kid playing in the sand.
Through the season, through the years.
There’s a full grown man playing in the sand.
His castles, sculpted over the time, reflect his hard work through every intricate and small detail, built as high as the clouds, wash away with the waves.
See him start anew each time?
Knowing, they shall wash away.
See him try and best himself?
When he knows it’s all in vain.
His creation, a landmark for those a hundred years from now. Had the ocean not stripped his work away.
You’ll see him try, but never cry.
His poor soul weeps at night,
But his tear ducts remain dry.
It is not because he does not show, it is not because he tries again, it is not because he’s smart as hell, that he does not feel.
The sea has many mistresses.
He is not one of them.
The sea played him like dice,
Promising to care, promising not to hurt,
He paid the price.
See the fool elder playing in the sand.
See the fool elder get washed away.
His final creation, by the sea left untouched,
The wind will blow away.