Ebbing in finality was the thumb of my grandfather:

His eyes wavered, though I don't know what he sought after.

Many years ago I asked what he could see:

"I can see nothing in all of it's incredibility," 

from those words on, I've searched for nothing.

"A waste of potential," or something...

but then, looking at my grandfather's stance, 

I let go of this endless trance. 

His words simply float to me:

"Just be," he says "just be."