When you look at an ocean,
the first thing you notice
are the roaring waves in motion.
The tide is the roiling waves that dip majestically,
rolling white-fringed, and on, and on, and on.
The undulating ripples seem to thrash violently against the shore,
devouring up personal items like keys
to be gone, wiped out, forever more.
The ebb and flow of the water churns relentlessly.
It must tire soon.
But the surge does not retreat,
showing no pattern, no predictability.
And predominantly, no defeat.
It continues to perform its dance of death,
beckoning the weak to step forward, to be claimed.
The water emits a chilled sea air,
while attempting to enchant us with its beauty,
luring victims closer and closer as if by dare.
It rages like a caged animal,
begging to be set free.
All of a sudden, it falls silent.
And it is frightening-this silence,
as if we are all waiting for the world to become louder.
But just remember:
Underneath that loudness,
of the majestic waves collapsing on top of each other,
there is a stillness that exists.
There is life.
And I believe that is what writing is about.
It is about finding that stillness.
by Jessica Chan (14)
Competition - The Poetry Trials
Copyright remains with the author.