The Crimson Tides of Lament
Upon a distant isle, where sapphire waves conspire,
Beneath the moon’s pale vigil and the stars’ cold fire,
There dwelt a soul enshrouded in fate’s cruel decree,
Seraphina, the forsaken, bound to sorrow’s sea.
Her eyes, twin pools of twilight, held the weight of years,
A mosaic of joy extinguished, salted by her tears.
Once, laughter graced her lips like dawn’s first tender hue,
Now silence cloaked her spirit, as night devours the blue.
The isle, a realm of echoes, where ancient whispers tread,
Its cliffs, like broken titans, bore the scars of dread.
For legends spoke of vengeance, of gods who sealed its doom,
A curse that thirsted deeply, hungering in the gloom.
Yet midst this bleak dominion, a fragile bloom took root—
Adrian, the sculptor, with hands both strong and mute.
His chisel carved the marble, his heart carved through her night,
A bond forged in the shadows, where love defied the blight.
“O Seraphina,” he whispered, “though darkness claims the shore,
Within thy soul’s vast heavens, I glimpse the dawn once more.
Let not the curse define thee; let not the waves decree—
For in thy gaze, my compass, I’ll chart our destiny.”
But fate, that veiled enchantress, had spun her thread unseen,
The isle’s malignant heartbeat thrummed low, a dirge between.
The earth began to shudder, the skies wept ash and brine,
As ancient stones awakened, to resurrect their design.
“Three nights remain,” the elders cried, “ere tides of blood ascend,
The gods demand an offering, or all existence ends!
A heart must break asunder, a life must meet the storm,
Else every breath and heartbeat shall cease, and none be warm.”
Seraphina knelt in silence, her palms pressed to the soil,
Where roots of olden anguish drank deep of sorrow’s toil.
“What use this fleeting vessel,” she mused, “if all must die?
What worth a love unyielding, if seas and heavens lie?”
She climbed the jagged summit where tempests clawed the air,
Her gown, a spectral banner, unraveled by despair.
Below, the village trembled; above, the vortex swirled,
And in her breast, a tempest more fierce than all the world.
“Stay thy hand!” Adrian pleaded, his voice a shattered hymn,
“For thou art not the architect of shadows vast and grim.
Let not the void consume thee; let not their hunger win—
Without thy pulse, my starlight, what world shall I begin?”
But Seraphina turned to him, her smile a ghostly grace,
“Beloved, trace the constellations etched upon my face.
Though flesh may yield to shadow, though blood may feed the tide,
Our love shall carve its sigil where time and space collide.”
A dagger forged of starlight she pressed against her breast,
Her breath a fragile vesper, her soul a phoenix’s quest.
“Let oceans roar their fury, let earth and sky lament—
For in this crimson offering, our eternity is spent.”
The blade descended swiftly, a comet’s fleeting arc,
Her blood, a scarlet river, embraced the island’s dark.
The ground ceased its quaking, the heavens stilled their roar,
As Seraphina’s essence merged with the eternal shore.
Adrian clasped her lifeless, her form a waning light,
Her sacrifice a sonnet that silenced endless night.
The villagers, now spared, emerged with mournful cries,
But he heard only whispers of her voice within the skies.
Years passed, yet on that cliffside, where waves still weep and yearn,
A statue stands eternal, its eyes fixed on the urn.
His hands, once skilled in marble, now frozen in their plea,
Guard the dust of starlight that once had set him free.
And when the moon hangs heavy, the island’s mournful breeze
Carries Seraphina’s murmur through the rustling trees:
“Though flesh may fade to legend, though love may bleed and cease,
In death, I found my purpose—in silence, endless peace.”
Beneath the moon’s pale vigil and the stars’ cold fire,
There dwelt a soul enshrouded in fate’s cruel decree,
Seraphina, the forsaken, bound to sorrow’s sea.
Her eyes, twin pools of twilight, held the weight of years,
A mosaic of joy extinguished, salted by her tears.
Once, laughter graced her lips like dawn’s first tender hue,
Now silence cloaked her spirit, as night devours the blue.
The isle, a realm of echoes, where ancient whispers tread,
Its cliffs, like broken titans, bore the scars of dread.
For legends spoke of vengeance, of gods who sealed its doom,
A curse that thirsted deeply, hungering in the gloom.
Yet midst this bleak dominion, a fragile bloom took root—
Adrian, the sculptor, with hands both strong and mute.
His chisel carved the marble, his heart carved through her night,
A bond forged in the shadows, where love defied the blight.
“O Seraphina,” he whispered, “though darkness claims the shore,
Within thy soul’s vast heavens, I glimpse the dawn once more.
Let not the curse define thee; let not the waves decree—
For in thy gaze, my compass, I’ll chart our destiny.”
But fate, that veiled enchantress, had spun her thread unseen,
The isle’s malignant heartbeat thrummed low, a dirge between.
The earth began to shudder, the skies wept ash and brine,
As ancient stones awakened, to resurrect their design.
“Three nights remain,” the elders cried, “ere tides of blood ascend,
The gods demand an offering, or all existence ends!
A heart must break asunder, a life must meet the storm,
Else every breath and heartbeat shall cease, and none be warm.”
Seraphina knelt in silence, her palms pressed to the soil,
Where roots of olden anguish drank deep of sorrow’s toil.
“What use this fleeting vessel,” she mused, “if all must die?
What worth a love unyielding, if seas and heavens lie?”
She climbed the jagged summit where tempests clawed the air,
Her gown, a spectral banner, unraveled by despair.
Below, the village trembled; above, the vortex swirled,
And in her breast, a tempest more fierce than all the world.
“Stay thy hand!” Adrian pleaded, his voice a shattered hymn,
“For thou art not the architect of shadows vast and grim.
Let not the void consume thee; let not their hunger win—
Without thy pulse, my starlight, what world shall I begin?”
But Seraphina turned to him, her smile a ghostly grace,
“Beloved, trace the constellations etched upon my face.
Though flesh may yield to shadow, though blood may feed the tide,
Our love shall carve its sigil where time and space collide.”
A dagger forged of starlight she pressed against her breast,
Her breath a fragile vesper, her soul a phoenix’s quest.
“Let oceans roar their fury, let earth and sky lament—
For in this crimson offering, our eternity is spent.”
The blade descended swiftly, a comet’s fleeting arc,
Her blood, a scarlet river, embraced the island’s dark.
The ground ceased its quaking, the heavens stilled their roar,
As Seraphina’s essence merged with the eternal shore.
Adrian clasped her lifeless, her form a waning light,
Her sacrifice a sonnet that silenced endless night.
The villagers, now spared, emerged with mournful cries,
But he heard only whispers of her voice within the skies.
Years passed, yet on that cliffside, where waves still weep and yearn,
A statue stands eternal, its eyes fixed on the urn.
His hands, once skilled in marble, now frozen in their plea,
Guard the dust of starlight that once had set him free.
And when the moon hangs heavy, the island’s mournful breeze
Carries Seraphina’s murmur through the rustling trees:
“Though flesh may fade to legend, though love may bleed and cease,
In death, I found my purpose—in silence, endless peace.”
“`
