I have carried ruined kings, gods unmade—names lost before the tide could whisper them back. They clutch at the world, drowning in its silence, unraveling in the undertow—grief, love, memory, all stripped to salt as I return their reaped souls to my master. But none fought as Ceyx did. None waged war against water like a man who thought devotion alone could defy the pull.
He did not go quietly. No—he was stubborn, thrashing, calling your name as if the air itself might bear him back to you. Foolish. Pitiful. The wind cannot answer, nor can its plea to the sky make it break open and return the drowned to the living. Only the waves cradled him—only the sea listened, softening his cries beneath her hush. He should have surrendered then, uncoiled from longing, let the waters do as waters must. And yet, love makes fools of men.
But the sea is merciful. She does not leave suffering untended. After you abandoned him, left him to drown in the storm of lost faith, she gathered him, tucked him into her depths, quieted him where grief could no longer wound. She did not steal him—no, she saved him. From longing. From pain. From you.
Yet you still wait. You who wanders like a living ghost each night, who clutches absence as though it will one day answer you. What is it you crave? Forgiveness? There is none. Redemption? Life does not grant second chances. No—the ocean has already taken what you failed to hold. She has already soothed the unrest your hands left upon him.
Jump, Alcyone. Would love not demand you follow him? Let my master weigh your sins upon the tide, your false devotion, your grasping hands that let love slip like water between your fingers. The fates demand balance, and the waves are merciful. She will not swallow you in cruelty. No, she will cradle you, as she cradled him. She will mend your guilty soul. She will make you whole.
She will set Ceyx free—free from the deception you wove in the stars, the guise of love you wore like a veil. She will free him when she reveals the truth. How you sent him out upon the waves and waited for the return of not the man, but the name. He loved you dearly, Alcyone. He defied me, defied my master, and yet his soul persists in her care—all because he cannot let go of your neglectful, withering love. The least you can do is surrender. Offer yourself in kind. Let me take your soul and lay it at my master’s feet. It is only fair.
~~~
The tide does not return what she has claimed,
Yet her mercy stirs beneath where the wind still weeps.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.
The sea does not forgive, nor shall she grieve,
No prayer can break the wave’s decree.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.
You let him drown; you watched, you betrayed,
The waves bore witness where devotion waned.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.
What justice waits, if you remain?
What hope endures beyond the deep?
The tide does not return what she has claimed.
He called out your name, yet only my master replied,
No stars remained to cast their guide.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.
There is no love left upon the shore,
Only sorrow stands where love once swore.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.
The wind cries out, yet love’s silence grows,
No voice remains where love once breathed.
The tide will not return the one she has saved.
Grief binds his soul, yet I will bring him justice.
The tide takes, the wind laments, and Death obeys. But even if forgotten, a debt does not vanish—it is whispered between waves, passed from hand to hand like a fate unwilling to be denied.
Thus arrives the fourth reckoning in 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. And waiting—waiting is many things. Perhaps a promise. A curse. A duty. A deception. A surrender. A choice that was never truly a choice at all.
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/