The Sea and the Rising Flame

The Sea and the Rising Flame

The sea was vast, and cold with time,

It whispered to the edge of dawn,

The sky was heavy, veiled with smoke,

And clouds prepared their ancient play,

Yet from the deep a pulse began,

A promise stirring in the gloom.

The waves returned like tireless ghosts,

They struck, they fell, then rose once more,

Each carrying the night’s remains,

Until the horizon broke apart,

And through the wound of endless dark,

The first red spark began to climb.

The sun emerged, both fierce and calm,

It did not beg, it did not plead,

It claimed the sky as if to say,

I am the fire that will not fade,

The world stood still, the sea drew back,

To watch this birth of molten light.

I felt its heat within my chest,

The salt, the flame, the sudden peace,

And knew the dark had served its turn,

For even storms must kneel to dawn,

The sea, once cruel, began to sing,

And waves were hymns to what was lost.

Each colour spread like whispered blood,

Upon the face of waking waves,

The sky became a sacred wound,

Where night and morning touched as one,

And though the day was far from kind,

Its light endured, its truth remained.

So let the sea remember pain,

Let every tide return in flame,

For in the breaking there is birth,

And in the ash, the glow survives,

The sun must fall to rise again,

And fire must fade to learn to burn.