The moon clasped the night with icy fingers,

as the paper boat danced on whispered currents of despair.

Alone, beneath the hollow gaze of stars,

it floated, an echo of what once was,

a whisper lost in the labyrinth of dreams.

Beneath the obsidian waters, shadows murmur secrets

that neither time nor tide dare remember.

Yet here, in these silent, ink-stained reflections,

the boat sings a dirge of woven echoes,

for the souls adrift, longing, ever longing…