The Surfing

A man looked at the ocean from birth
And thought it would be nice to run across
All over the world, and in his dream,
Once, some delirium has dreamed to him.

As if light-headed ocean began
To be submitted to his orders, when
Himself he’s holding to a surfing board
By forces hidden in his inner world.

His surf is going around cliffs,
And knowing no obstacles and reefs
It bears him to unfamiliar place
To see unknown future face to face.

The man slides on the steep wave slopes
Constantly rolling down, but he hopes
To win as usual a consolation prize:
The wave would uplift him, and life is nice!

And this is complimentary for his
Imagination that a giant-like he is,
And ocean its surface only puckers
To do he would be happy-go-lucky.

But shortly after it’s beginning storm;
The wave beneath gets furious in foam,
And that’s sign of the times about then
The irreversible change yet waits for man.

Then boundlessness of the horizon
All of a sudden rolled oneself up on
One of the tacks, and only small eye
Of light remained in underwater pipe.

The man aspires to the rests of light
Being quite alone in the like mill site,
But water circularity and pressure
There have not noticed his aspiration.

They soon have broken his board in half,
They turned the cripple within vortex stuff;
The wave was closed all-around, dead
As ever to the man, and went ahead.

The arrow of time flied as before
To future over the water foam
Together with the sea wave under forces
Of universe and did not know losses.