In the silent cloister of a whisper, she waits —
shadows cast by the moon's weary gaze.
Forgotten hymns ride the coiling waves,
lifting veils from sunken castles.
Echoes tremble in the mist,
as memories, once lost, tether themselves anew,
beneath the cold and unyielding tide.
The shore remembers the cry of gulls,
etching dark silhouettes against a pallid sky.
Walk, tread softly on this ancient sand,
where the past knits itself to the present,
a haunting embrace of joy and sorrow entwined.
Whisper of the Shadow
Wander in the Ether
Pulse of the sea — erratic, ardent, gnashing against the ferrous embrace of time. Does the tide know its own sorrow? The moon flickers like a distant campfire, where ghosts gather for warmth.