Upon the Wild Water’s Shore
The sunset scatters not its hues abroad,
But holds them fast in robes of burnish’d gold;
No fleeting blush doth stain the ether broad—
It cloaks the heavens as stories of old.
The waters speak not in a gentle tone,
But roar with verve that sets the earth to shake;
Their surge doth rise, and swell, and press full grown,
With adrenaline that bids the bold awake.
Welcome, then, to this most rugged place,
Where cliffs do stand like sentinels of stone;
Where breezes bear the salt and wild embrace,
And every soul may find its own true tone.
Here let thee move in measure with the view—
With waves that leap as courtiers in a dance;
With banks where heath doth bloom in hues of blue,
And ferns do bow to every water’s prance.
Whence cometh light that lingers on the foam?
’Tis not the moon, nor yet the morning star;
But glory wrought in darkness and in gloom,
That binds the heart and guides it near or far.
The sable night doth wait beyond the gleam,
Yet still we stay to watch the deeps’ great art—
For here, where chaos and sweet order seem
To blend as one, doth beat the pulse of heart.
So let us jive in concord with the scene,
As seamen once did with the tide’s own sway;
To feel the earth and water’s wild regime—
A dance as old as night, as bright as day...🌘✨01202025 ©LanZhan
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