The tides speak here, in a language
of salt and silent echoes,
Their tongues flicker in moonlit grace,
Glimmers on panels, fractured, softli-touched
by the abyssal lullabies of dreams, swell.
WhispersDeep in the brine heart, pulses a memory,
of coral castles and sepulchers of sand,
Restive giants, dreaming far from today's
murmurs, bask in the quiet of the ocean's
unfathomable heart.
CurrentsWhen stars refract below, the light,
shatters in hues once named by the ancients.
A luminescent prayer, fragmented across
the midnight panels of woven sea dystopia.
Shush... the gentle sea tells a secret,
to those still enough, to hear its
echo through frozen panelidade, the storied
azure consciousness, already self forgotten.