Hear now the tale that the storm has sung,
When skies were heavy and the earth was young.
Upon the glass, the rain did write,
A thousand runes in the fading light.
...
Beneath the sun's shimmering gaze,
A quiet pool holds a thousand ways—
Fragments of stone, jagged and worn,
Stories of ages in silence born.
...
A bench holds the weight of a single soul,
Framed by a horizon painted in fire and gold.
The sky bleeds whispers of day's last breath,
Where shadows stretch, and time forgets.
...