The stony shores settle as the rising lunar orb climbs to its highest peak amongst its siblings and cousins of shining light. The air becomes still and pure, never knowing a spark of worry. A cooling breeze hits the face of the shore, a welcoming chill amongst the warm and starry night.
Waves after waves begin anew,
A rhythm unbeknownst, through and through.
Patterns form from a distant shore,
Becoming entwined in all thats raw.
Upon the horizon a ship sails with utmost care,
Sailing along amongst the curls of the ocean hair.
Content amongst the darkness and warmth of night,
Slowing moving as from dark to light.
A timeless moment etches itself into the face of time. Forever becoming a moment unto itself – an endless fleeting feeling of a distant memory.
The stony shores sings a song so pure. As sure as the waves march on the shore – the stony shores are surely pure. The rhythmic waves become an endless cure.