The ocean speaks a language of waves,
fluent in currents that churn the sand of
forgotten seas, where the horizon bends
to embrace the unseen fate of every ripple.
Picture the grains—seeds of water—sown
upon the banks of yesterday's stories, cultivating
forests of thought amongst the scattering
echoes of ancient tides.
What is the history of a drop turning
to stone, if not the echo of itself attempting.
Attempting to break away, seeking an inlet to
call home, or become a stream to the dreaming
shore.
Like whispered advice carried by the wind,
woven into the fabric of the wide-open
sea. Inland currents stir beneath our
placid skin, leaving trails like
forgotten memories in the labyrinth of our past
selves.