A Poetic Ode

The horizon hums where the ocean meets the sky,

A seam stitched by unseen hands,

Clouds tumble as if to greet the waves,

Each curve alive with shimmering secrets.

I stand rooted, heart brimming with questions

The stars might answer, given time.

A gull’s cry shatters the spell,

Drawing my gaze to a world so vast,

Where mountains rise like ancient sentinels,

Each crag a hymn to forgotten storms.

The air thickens with the pulse of life,

A symphony born in the silence of soil.

But then—an unexpected shift.

The wind bends low, coaxing the wildflowers,

And I see it: the sacred choreography of the earth.

It is not chaos but dance,

Not fracture but flow.

I kneel, hands pressed to the ground,

And in that touch, the rhythm becomes mine.

Truly, this depth, this madness, this joy—

It does not conquer but cradles,

An infinite story written in the breath of all things.