Sitting,
Staring at the sea,
Wondering what will be
The end of it all—
What will seal it all,
What will finally sever this pointless curve?
All its content, images, parting images
Always consuming themselves,
In every moment letting go;
A temporary flow
Of knowing,
Of flowing,
Of always dying away
Of flying away.
These fleeting senses, our only possession:
So transitory,
So wonderful,
So glorious,
So absorbing,
So short,
So tragic,
And then when passed,
So unknowingly and eternally pointless.
