The froth--it blankets the deep dark blue.
Pristine and virgin pure, still tainted with twisted lime.
The shadows creep at noon and cast a dirty deed; a heinous crime
against the facade of a muted silence, lost in space and time.
The waves--they beat in harmony, bathed in solemn blue,
crashing into the emptiness of its vast reflection;
a mirror-esque moment framed in imperfection,
witness to its clandestine tranquility that masks the suspicion.
The sun--truth-blinding whilst dancing on the surface of blue,
and in the heat of the moment, the callous fool
bares his soul to the world, for the lady is his world too,
and then cowers behind the glare; "hide your face so the world can never find you".
The breeze--they sing, in symphonic elation and a miserable blue,
for they know your touch and they hear your heart,
so they chime to the melody of being ripped wide apart;
bask in the wake of delusion and pretend this has yet to start.
