The water is echoic, not full, an empty whisper caught between shells.
lllmmmmkk. The tide recedes.
Stars above—weeping, laughter undulating beneath the current,
It's the heart's echo, they said, repeating itself in loops of serene anarchy.
Lurking remnants of time are fickle, unkindly dissolved by liquid silver.
You walk here, shadows bite directly at daylight's hesitating hue.
Repeat, accept the saltwater's touch, repeat,
the spiral descends infinitely into watery dimensions, tides mocking your stillness.
Observe a glimmering thread woven through oblivion's liquid mirror.
The lucid sea-echo becomes your voice as night steals its hymn, slowly.
They will dissolve, as reflection speaks to another tier in itself,
an ethereal orchestra engaging in simultaneous lullabies.
Distort the depths within your reflection, tempered by fate and illusion.
All tides depart, arriving elsewhere. Ah—looping the soulful void.
Listen. The pools are repeating, endlessly, moon's rhythm hammering with detachment.