Oh, how I love the sound
that waves make in winter.
A deep breath—
a quiet roar,
frozen in the depths of emotion.

Blue with veins of black,
and a heart that is
blacker still.
The beat of the sea is a song
full of sorrow from the soul of the Earth.

In summer,
the sea is angry.
Vicious,
it storms and it sinks,
swallowing pills of sunken spirits
to feed a wrath that is never full.

In winter,
the sea is alone.
Quiet,
but for the steady thump of its heart:
Pain. Pain. Pain pain pain.
Echoing from a murky floor.

Oh, how horrible is that hum.
The hum of water lapping over ice
that missions to cage it with cold, crystal spears.
The hum of water trapped under ice,
singing its song for eternity passed.

If a secret is never told,
is it even secret at all?

If a child’s cry is never heard,
did the child cry at all?

If I stay here on this cliff,
unseen.
Winter waves singing below the horizon,
and a sunless sky above.
Would the pain I see,
be the pain that shall be?