Forgiving ocean

Suppose I told you I’d written a poem about the ocean, 
A poem about reckless atoms, of hydrogen and oxygen, 
Suppose I were to speak of hues, blues of all sorts, 
What is there to say about such an enigma?
A bottomless pit, embedded within it is a home, 
Baking delicately in sunlight, its surface is of froth and foam, 
And when I dip my fingers in chilled waters, I find a distortion, 
See there, the ocean transcends mediocrity, 
In such a way, the ocean is more forgiving than glass, 
It forgets, for you cannot step in the same ocean twice, 
Water is continuously flowing, which means
The atoms and molecules that touched you 
And the hues that glistened upon you yesterday
Will never find you again. Forgetfulness, what a rarity, 
It does not know of the things I am and the things I’ve become, 
Sins unrepented, hurt pulsing through my every fiber,
The ocean does not see, nor does it wish to, 
It returns to my toes in tides, waiting for me to join in its movement, 
And for this reason, because it is the only true non-judgment, 
I have written a poem about the ocean and its untouched atoms.