In the obsidian depths, where whispers weave through the void,
an echo of the eclipse lingers, haunting the tides.
Lost transmissions speak of shadows draped in silk, fading into the twilight.
Listen, and the surf carries tales of raven wings,
skimming the surface, seeking solace in the moonlit abyss.
A melody forgotten by time, trapped within the whispered tide.
Shattered echoes reflect on the water's skin,
rippling through the currents of the mind,
unraveling stories of those who walk
the shores veiled in midnight's breath.
The distant call of the lichened whispers,
guided by an unseen tide that pulls at the heart,
weaving through the silhouettes of dreams,
and etching words of the ancients
into the sands of an everlasting night.