Whispers from the abyss call forth the midnight mariners,
Voices trailing behind the moonlit tide, haunting,
An orchestra of forgotten stars plays your name.
Monoliths stand vigil at the dawn of the spectral sea,
Their eyes—open, closed, never blink—as the salt and wind
weave tales of forgotten totems and lost sailors.
One flickering candle illumines the path,
its flame a crescent whisper against the temple’s stone face.
Beneath the trembling waves, secrets lie dormant,
Awaiting the return of the wandering souls
scripted by the tides, scripted by the stars.