We are waves not the ocean.

We are waves on the ocean of reality,
driven across time by entropy.
When the wave meets the shore,
all that we were remains—
all but that which was us.

I have always felt quite strongly that we are a pattern rather than a thing in the universe, and I wrote this poem many years ago to try to explain that view. As I have grown older, I find myself thinking about it now and then. I recently had cause to remember it during a conversation and thought I might post it here for posterity. I do not find it comforting, it may well be unhelpful; but I do consider it to be honest.