Young Curiosity

A boy along the craggy rocks assumes the lectures of scolding, cooling teachers. The tides of the masses. Each frothy tip, leaping to as he leaps, and bouncing fro as he goes. His feet. Far from the home they know; they linger in the recesses of the dark unknown, the pools where ocean reels and rules. A footprint is a hazard posed, to falling among the waves of old, his young curiosity keeps his balance in still repose. But there is a price to pay. For each lifeform dwelt before and slimy crevice, rotten store Thoughts of him are blessings which, test the way he ventured in quietness and innocence. Now, the ocean has a mind its own that wane and wax, the tides come in . . . . . . and go out. Is it tireless will that drives the sheer necessity, the rolling rote that crashes here? Nor its fatiguing sound does not echo, neither cry for shame. The tears of unlamented blame. It led the boy to hither shore. Then cast him into nothing more.