Where Whispers of Footprints Fade

The tide breathes in, a whispered sigh, Across the canvas wet and wide. A million footprints, ghosts that lie, Where yesterday's small dramas died. Each shell, a story, curled and frail, Of journeys through the ocean's keep. A silent, salty, ancient tale, Of where the hidden currents creep. The jagged rocks, with moss adorned, Stand sentinels against the spray. By countless storms they've been out-horned, Yet watch the dawn of every day. The distant gulls, a mournful cry, Hang in the vast and airy blue. Beneath, the secrets softly lie, Of ships that sailed and dreams that flew. And as the sun begins to dip, Painting the clouds with fiery grace, A sense of time begins to slip, In this timeless, liminal space. The seashore whispers, deep and low, Of endings that are new begun. A place where restless spirits go, To meet the silence of the sun. ©bfa042925