The horizon whispered stories of long-lost realms,
where the nebulae painted suns upon seas unknown.
Footsteps upon foreign sands,
each grain a memory of cosmos adrift.
Do the waves, ever constant, remember the dance of moons?
Or do they, too, echo the silence of suns turned to ash?
The dunes here breathe in tides,
a rhythm softer than dreams,
more profound than the pulse of galaxies.
Peering into froth-capped curls of sea,
the shadows of broken flames belong
to a timeline unwrapped in slumber moons.
Let the soft murmur of tidal whispers guide you tohidden truths,
or perhaps to unfurl the legacy of stars in their endless ripples.
As you traverse this alien shoreline,
known only to philosophers adrift upon spherical vessels,
ask yourself—what, if anything, do echoes remember?