Futile

I'm staring out over the lake. Waves lap onto the shore, licking at the feet of the rocks. They crash over the sand again and again as if straining to grasp something just out of their reach. As the useless plights continue, the darkness closes in behind them. First, the darkness merges with the horizon. It blends in with the outermost edge of the lake, as far as the eye can see, creeping in subtly. At next glance, the darkness has crept up further. It asserts its dominance, concealing distant waves completely, convincing any onlooker that no horizon ever even existed. And then, suddenly, the darkness has consumed the last of the waves. I see only the foamy tops of those that lick the rocks--nothing more. Not a trace of the wave's body or origin is left, just its final fleeting impression on the earth. Perpetually crashing, in forever futile attempts.