Ripples
By Dave
The sun descends, the sun descends—
its gilded light a fleeting lens.
The waters still, the waters still,
await the cast of lives fulfilled.
A stone is loosed, a stone is loosed—
its weight a truth, its flight a muse.
Concentric rings, concentric rings,
expand with whispers time yet brings.
The stones are souls, the stones are souls—
their presence shapes, their absence tolls.
Each plunging deep, each plunging deep,
a legacy the currents keep.
Time undulates, time undulates—
its patient tide no heart abates.
The ripples blend, the ripples blend,
to shores unseen, where echoes end.
Yet stones endure, yet stones endure—
beneath the depths, serene, secure.
Their silent mass, their silent mass,
holds stories written in the glass.
And as we gaze, and as we gaze,
upon this fleeting twilight haze—
we glimpse the ripples, fading, wide,
their ghostly fingers reaching further tides.