There is a Flow

Some more imperfect verses (the imperfection of my verses is almost becoming a theme)

If the cliffs upon the shore could think and speak,
I wonder what they’d say about the waves 
That break and batter them without cease, 
Imposing unrelenting force upon them
And on all those bits of stone one finds 
Scattered here and there around the beach;
Or what the stones would say, broken down
One day upon the next, millennia uncounted,
When they once were great and godly mountains,
Now eroded by the winds of ages,
Lying broken in a million pieces on the ground.
To rock and mountain, wind and waves
Must look like violence, unmerciful and unforgiving.
Everything must break beneath the force of water
Or the patient sculpting of the timeless wind. 
But what in this limited frame of vision looks 
Like violence, tossing me and breaking me
Like rocks upon the shore, who undergo
The surging of the sea and its destructive waves,
Is in the larger scheme—by faith, I know—
the graceful dance of one great cosmic flow,
Smooth and serene in its wavelike beauty,
Not harsh and brittle like myself who breaks beneath it,
Supple in its earth-embracing magnitude. 
There is no violence in the wind or water,
Only in the vain resistance of the stone. 
The waves of life do not destroy, unless,
Like brittle stone, I fear to be destroyed. 
Only if I fear, destruction is inevitable—
but once destroyed, how easy will it be! 
For like those stubborn stones upon the shore,
I too will be no more than mere debris,
Mere bits of sand and pebble that will flow
As easily as the waves that carry me.