Adrift

We began beneath a sovereign moon,

its argent brilliance a summons,

casting silver pathways across the tide

as though destiny had inked a map

upon the surface of the sea.

The ocean breathed for us then—

its salt our lifeblood,

its swell our heartbeat,

its endless horizon whispering

of uncharted altitudes,

summits yet unseen.

But the moon is no steady sentinel—

her cycles etched each fissure,

waxing with our rise,

waning with our falter,

her pale face charting the tempests

that unravelled our course.

Storm after storm clawed at our vessel;

the compass spun, weathered and uncertain,

until even the stars seemed to scatter

beyond our reach.

And though the sea still shone with promise,

no harbor gave us calm.

The sea keeps its silence,

our course dissolved into shifting tides.

Only the moon endures—

neither promise nor reprieve,

a spectral compass turning on,

marking what was,

and what lies yonder of chart’s edge.