Run

It shoves you back against your chest,
And pulls the sand beneath your feet.
Disorients you. Discomforts you.
Distorts the taste upon your tongue.
It does this once. And once again.
And once again. And once again.
And yet, you love the sea beach wave.
You run into it willingly.
Submit, surrender, screaming joy.
The man dissolves into the boy.
Why grudge you, then, the tides of Time?