Upon the razor’s edge of night I stand, Where granite weeps and starlight turns to sand. The sea below, a frozen blade of glass, Carves secrets in the black, where tempests pass. Full moon ascends, a wound of pallid fire, Its twin drowned deep in waters cold as pyre. Silver threads entwine the drowning light, A mirror’s lie that beckons through the night. And hark—the voices coil from velvet gloom, Not wind, not wave, but graves that breathe my doom. They weave my name in silken, siren song, “Descend,” they plead, “where all the lost belong.” Leap into the cradle of the deep, Where hearts forget the ache of what they keep. One step, one sigh, and shadows claim their own, In moonlit arms, forever not alone. The cliff quakes soft beneath my trembling heel, As if the earth itself would make me kneel. Yet still I linger, caught in moonlight’s snare, The voices patient, weaving through the air… …eternal, velvet, calling me to fall, Into the sea’s cold, crystalline thrall.
