White claws gallop toward shore
from a distance and up close.
Only a few have braved the hand of the sea.
Is it a death wish or exhilaration?
I can tell you it’s more.
The warriors I’ve surfed with
have a desire of their own.
We don’t go into battle with horses or swords,
we go with courage in our hearts,
floating on our dreams of victory.
Wave after wave,
warriors rally again or fall into its grasp.
Our goal is to wear it down.
The strikes of curved cuts
are seen at the shore.
We shoot through like bullets,
flying through darkness to get to the light,
and the rush we feel
echo like battle cries
the beast dies down.
The surfers are victorious.
As some paddle back,
others stay behind, knowing that the ocean will try again tomorrow.