Tiresome Charade.

Into this ocean I will wade,
in its depths I must bathe,
and lather up the plans I made,
I rinse and they wash away.

Into this sea I shall go,
and be swept in even flow,
so far below the undertow,
where only the crustaceans go.

Into this sand I will sink,
whilst looking for a place to think,
and when I finally reach the brink,
I'll miss it in a single blink.

Into this hell I will be thrown,
and beaten on it's unholy road,
for fear of never being shown,
the light cannot guide what it does not know.