The Turbulent Tide, Part 1

The waters churn in endless night, A restless void, devoid of light. Its howling breath, a nameless force, A path that veers from time’s own course. Upon the waves, the lost remain, Their voices trapped in ceaseless pain. The tide, it swells, it pulls, it breaks, It whispers doom, it never wakes. The sky dissolves in ashen grey, No guiding stars, no break of day. A hollow sun, a sinking moon, Drowned beneath the ocean’s tomb. The ships that sailed are ghosts of old, Their wooden frames now black and cold. No hands to steer, no eyes to see, Only the tide’s cruel decree. Foam-stained bones on shattered stone, Names erased, their fates unknown. The seabirds wail, the wind replies, A chorus sung in mourning cries. The tide will rise, the tide will fall, And drag the helpless through its thrall. No prayer is heard, no gods remain, Only the flood, and endless rain. Beneath the waves, the deep still calls, A voice that haunts the drowning halls. Its whispers claw, they pull, they tear, A crushing weight none can bear. The storm still looms, the current sways, It beckons forth, it never stays. And through the dark, the echoes ride, Forever lost within the tide.