Beneath the undulating surface lies a forgotten orchestra, its symphony overtaken by the relentless tides. Once, melody danced between the corals, but now it withers, much like the decaying wood of shipwrecks, strewn across the ocean floor.
The sea, a perpetual witness, carries stories—some vibrant, some hollow. The symphony, once vibrant and grand, now offers a solemn echo, a reminder of the beauty lost to time and salt. The strings of forgotten violins, their music now for fish and phantom sailors, unravel in the deep like strands of seaweed.
The conductor's baton rests in the grasp of a giant clam, its shell a monument to harmony long gone. The maritime winds, indifferent, play their own melody, intertwined with tales of mermaids and leviathans, each note a fragment of history.
The symphony's decay parallels the stories of mariners, their logs penned in ink now washed away. The words, once inked to canvas, disintegrate with time, leaving behind only the echoes of their thoughts, adrift like flotsam.
As the tide ebbs, the sea whispers secrets of enchanted melodies, yearning for a shore to cradle them, to remember, to retell the forgotten ballads sung by starlight and sand.