Never love the sea.
The waves rise with the misty moon,
The shore quietly desires the waters,
The wind travels with stormy faith
Over the white-caps and billowing swells,
Where is the warm breeze?
That which grows like a small sun
Over the seashells and shore.
Ah, to feel the cool waters
Swiftly rising and falling over the sands.
Faith is a cold storm;
Rough waves swiftly pull the stormy silver clouds.
Rain falls like tears on the shore
And the old moon calmly leads the misty breeze.
Travel silently like the soaring gull
And rise to meet the azure tides.
a e q u o r i s // primary work in progress
image found: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/221943087866001579/