The waves roll ever against the shore,
Files of saltwater and sand
Chiseling out a new coast.
Try as he might, man’s hand
Is powerless to interfere
With the pounding of the waves.
The future’s just as untraceable
As next century’s shoreline.
Try as I might, I can’t determine my future:
The tiny, unplanned events
The grains of sand that sculpt it out.
You’re the hand behind the rolling waves.
You know each grain of sand and time,
Weave them into Your narrative.
Try as I might to hold them back,
You remain in control
Of the future and my waves.