The Leviathan is long gone,
Its colossal form swallowed by the sea,
A shadow in the abyss that even the depths cannot contain.
Its scales, once glimmering like moonlit armor,
Now slide against the walls of time,
Their echo reverberating in forgotten halls,
Where memory lingers
Like dust in the corners of an old room.
The air still trembles
With the ancient hum of its presence—
A song of weight and gravity,
Of something vast and untouchable,
A pulse beneath the skin of the earth.
Beneath the surface, the walls remember:
How the Leviathan carved its path through the dark,
How its breath made the waters part like curtains,
How its voice, low and rumbling,
Shook the stars from their quiet homes.
And though the creature is gone,
Its scale-streaks remain.
They sing in the wind,
Whisper in the waves,
Speak in the silence between each breath—
A haunting reminder of what was,
Of what still slips through the cracks of the world,
Echoing into the bones of all who listen.