The Wave

It started as a tiny ripple,
On its journey toward the distant shore.
It grew into a towering wave
Its voice became a mighty roar.

With strength that knew no earthly bounds,
When fed by summer storm and tide;
The little ripple, now a wave,
Rushed on with ever growing pride.

Mighty ships caught in its path
Were crushed like tiny bathtub toys.
The birds on islands miles away
Were startled by its awesome noise.

It finally reached the sandy shore
And there it lost all strength and motion.
Just water flowing back to sea
One tiny part of mother ocean.

The Wave. like so many of my poems, is a parody. Most of us spend our whole life seeking power. From the lowly wife abuser to the man or woman who attains high office, the objective is to have power over as many others as possible. Of course there are those who have a legitimate desire to benefit humanity, but as is readily obvious in an election year, they are a rarity. The wave grows and absorbs more and more of its surroundings, as it moves across the surface of the ocean. Even the mighty whale dives deep, as it passes over, but once it makes landfall it quickly dissipates and becomes once more just another part of the ocean. In the military community, as an officer with an important position, I was treated with the utmost respect. But after I retired, and moved back into the rural community from whence I came, no one even knew what my military rank had been. It took some getting used to being called by my first name. The nice thing about the loss of power is that it comes with the loss of a lot of responsibility.


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