Tide of the midnight ocean soon to peak.
The turtles crawl to the moon their souls seek.
Across the golden front they go to war,
A kindness to those who don’t reach the shore.
Comfort sought in the chaos of clashing waves.
No tombstones beside their premature graves.
Who bears the burden for those who are cursed?
How about fate like music well rehearsed?
One turtle reaches the shoreline with grace,
One is cursed with thoughts it can not erase.
There is a great flame inside of us all.
Through struggle it grows, through comfort it falls.
With faith it may grow as bright as the moon.
Hopefully my light will grow that great soon.