Page 1, Just a feeling I have about the control we have over our lives

We are but waves on the sea.

Our lives a series of peaks and troughs

Sometimes rolling meandering along

Calm and docile, effortless

Sometimes mercilessly whipped by wind

Till we spit frothy bile from our crazed crests

We do not choose where we find land

We do not choose when it will be

Our days may end

Rippling up golden sands

Or with fury dashed against the rocks.

We are but waves on the sea.

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