My skin is rippled by the tender water
I do not hear the madness consuming the surface
I listen to the soft blue echoes purr
Created by a realm that's wordless
I'm barely brushed by the colors
That form a rhythmic stain glass window
Their eyes, each a mystery as deep as these waters
Lock onto mine saying they know
They are traveling
Moving as constant as a mill
Their stories are weaving
In tandem to the Ocean's will
Their mother is absolute yet forgiving,
And sadly we aren't listening.
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