The world is quiet now; the fading light
lies soft upon the hills, a gentle glow.
The sea extends beneath the coming night,
each wave a pulse of time in ceaseless flow.
Come stand with me, and hear the waters speak—
No voice of comfort, but a hollow song
of yearning deep, cruel, and forever bleak,
where hope and reason drown in tides too strong.
The clash is clear—our hearts, aflame with dreams,
cry out for meaning on the endless main,
yet nature answers not, and all that seems
secure is lost, like fire in the rain.
But let us not falter at the cold shore,
nor flee to gods or myths to dull the ache,
for though no meaning waits beyond the score,
this life we hold is ours alone to make.
And still the waves press on without regret,
indifferent to the cries that fill the air.
So we must stand unshaken, though beset
by stillness vast and burdens hard to bear.
Though life is fleeting, dark, and void of plan,
there’s beauty still—in love, in thought, in man.
