ocean

Life becomes meaningful with a loving heart's gift Upon the ocean of gratitude soul's boat adrift Invisible expectancy tossed and turnedFrom the light of memories a blessed ray earned

Wildflowers can't be controlled, and neither can the girl with a soul boundless as the sky, and a spirit as free and wild as the ocean.

Ocean separates lands, not souls..

My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.

Life is like an ocean; an endlessly elegant dance between serenity and chaos. And while idly watching this can be so beautiful, that__ not what life is for. Don__ just stand on the shore_ jump in!

At the end of the day_we are anchoring into the peaceful lagoon, smiling at the majestic sun and its flirting rays, slowly slipping into the glittering ballroom of immense night skies, sipping on the platinum moon liquor under the blues of rippling waves kissing my golden foot hanging over the board of gently rocking boat, and diving into the bed of galaxies whispering magical stories of their eternal lives connecting souls_till the dawn_

It is naive to think you know someone so well.To think that whatever time you have shared in knowing their habits, their history, their stories, their weaknesses, their strengths, their wounds, and deepest corners of their heart could ever sum them up-- is unjust.It is a shame to be unaware of the shifts and changes that happen every day, every moment, right before your eyes. The little crinkles around her eyes that get ever-so-slightly deeper and wiser. The silver linings of her hair. The wonders of time and how they show their presence in such ways. You may think that a flower is simply a flower. A flower that looks and smells just as simply as it always has. Or that the ocean is simply salt water and blue. The flower is always moving, changing, blossoming, and giving life to the birds and the bees. The ocean's tides rise and fall with the phases of the moon. The currents change direction. And depending on how the sun hits the water, the colors and shades of blue are in fact, infinite. Everything around you and everyone is always changing. Take time to smell the roses. Take time to watch the tide. Take time to see your love with new eyes. It would be a shame to miss it.

I write our names on the page.What of it, if the paper will be burned?I write our names in the sand.What of it, if the shore will be washed by waves?I write our names on trees that will be cutand benches that will be painted,but what of it?I will keep on writing our namesbecause in this world of ephemera, You and I are the only constant.

Time is the wave upon the shore. It takes some things away, but it brings other things.

She is made up of depths even the ocean couldn't fathom.

Darwin may have been quite correct in his theory that man descended from the apes of the forest, but surely woman rose from the frothy sea, as resplendent as Aphrodite on her scalloped chariot.

...and when we die we die alone I cry, I cry aloneLike a piece of stone I am thrown into the wavy ocean of lifeto atone...to atoneOnly to atone...

She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.

Standing on the roof at night, beside the golden shipI look across the city and I dream a wild trip.The waves are high, the wind is strong, the moon is white and full.I smell the salt upon the sea, a strong magnetic pull.I shout into the endless dark, awaiting the reply:'Away! Away' It says: 'Away! Now spread your wings and fly.

Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them.Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.

What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.

I all of a sudden got to feeling like talking to people. Whenever I look at the ocean, I always want to talk to people, but when I__ talking to people, I always want to look at the ocean. I__ weird like that.

The human animal began as a mere wriggling thing in the ancient seas, struggling out onto land with many regrets. That is what brings us so full of longing to the sea.