Wave after wave after wave of
never ending water washing up
on the shore and washing away
my pretty little sandcastles.

No matter what I do I cannot stop
the water.
More sand, even a wall of it,
will not keep the waves away.

In my dreams I hear them,
incessant susurration
of the ocean assault
on my Normandy beach.

I am weary of trying,
and praying and crying,
my throat is hoarse, eyes are dry,
and I’m so close to dying.

The night comes and I fall
asleep,
but then I awaken
to a new day.

I’ll try again
to hope, to believe
to live, to love
to die another day.

Maranatha!
How long, how long?
Son of God, come.