Digging

Thrown into an oceanic oasis
Made only for us to wait,
We swim desperately
To elude the swift current of fate,
To avoid the inevitable, indefinite date.

We wash ourselves upon a shore
Safe from the grip of this tide,
Running far from the ocean's edge
Faster, farther, longer stride.
We do not linger, rather hide.

And we wait, we wait, for the
Moon's soft slumber,
So that we may bask in the light
Of the sun we live under,
Yet still, each day has its number.

We all dream of a happy day,
But we know that life must be this way;
The dirt cannot provide divine delay,
The timid tide will gladly whisk you away.

We can work, we can try,
We can plant flowers in the dirt,
But the roads all lead to one sure place
No matter the direction we pave.
Money, material, pain and pleasure;
All shovels digging our own shallow grave.

For some a cold layer of scattered soil
Will rest indifferent on weary bones,
For others the dust of a forgotten soul
Shall sink in silence to the sea bed's stones.