In the quiet moments, as day bleeds into night,
the tides pull at the shore of my mind.
What mysteries lie beneath the surface,
hidden from the luminous gaze of the lunar pull?
Tide∫Time = Dreams × Moonlight^Days
Some mornings, the waves whisper secrets,
making ripples over the sandcastles of yesterday's hopes.
Each grain a moment lost to the ebb,
each tide a new beginning, an ending remembered.