Above them, the tides rise,
reaching high into the heavenly skies,
and they fall-
falling deep enough to reach the land of souls.
Yet, beneath them all-
beneath this magnificent play,
lies another story,
a single shot, encapsulating the minds of the few.
The cherry blossom has stood bare,
birds of north nest in the far south,
time of the year has changed,
yet the burning one remains same.
Painted upon by the inks of the Kraken,
played with by the young-lings of the deep,
antagonists of a million kinds,
yet the passion burns brighter every time.
Turbulent is the deep blue world,
turbulent is the one around us,
surrounded by beasts and scavengers,
countless have ignited and turned to ash,
for only the flame that burns underwater,
gets to stay alive.