The wind speaks in knots,
twisting ancient riddles atop the forgotten waves;
the sea shudders, for it cannot forget this birth —
the murmurings of time etched in sand, washing away like whispered secrets.
Blue shadows tangled in the net of stars;
they dance upon the silvered crest, a melody of eras.
Do you hear the echo beneath, calling out from the depths —
can you break the dimension of static to understand its plight?
An echo, twice spoken, shrouded in textile of night,
turns into a pebble skipped across the canvas of eternity.
In flickers, we meet the solitude of static echoes, in grains of time — lost yet timeless.
Follow the wash to where the sands no longer listen: