Static

Lonely sea, empty sky.
The ocean following the great luna eye
following the call of the undeniable tide.

Is a wild call and a clear call from the gull,
As the flung spray,
the blown Spume sending the grey mist lying
on the seas grey face,
Not like a whetted knife?

Quiet sleep, sweet dream.
The ocean that holds it's starry sheen
deafening the cry of a last fading scream.