I slowly draw my paddle back
Through the water,
Cold, dark and deep,
I sweep it through in a way to not disturb the surface,
As if I might wake it from a profound sleep.
Mist curls in visible fingers,
Across the air,
Whitish blue unfolding across the murk,
Obscuring from my eyes dreadful things.
The boat slides across this mirror of purple and green stars,
Heaven's chaos twists and dances overhead,
Telling a tale of slow sweeps of orange fire,
It's tendrils of God's hair,
Caught in a cosmic gale.
I dont know where the other bank is,
Or what lies upon it's shores,
But further in,
I must continue,
To see if theres a road
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC
I slowly draw my paddle back
Through the water,
Cold, dark and deep,
I sweep it through in a way to not disturb the surface,
As if I might wake it from a profound sleep.
Mist curls in visible fingers,
Across the air,
Whitish blue unfolding across the murk,
Obscuring from my eyes dreadful things.
The boat slides across this mirror of purple and green stars,
Heaven's chaos twists and dances overhead,
Telling a tale of slow sweeps of orange fire,
It's tendrils of God's hair,
Caught in a cosmic gale.
I dont know where the other bank is,
Or what lies upon it's shores,
But further in,
I must continue,
To see if theres a road
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