Broken glasses, empty seashells.
They have swallowed the echoes.
Standing on the shore,
the eternal desolation of waves seeps in me.
The sand is insistent,
it denies the overwhelming by water.
Here, in the empty desolation,
today is tomorrow and tomorrow is today.
Maybe, a ship will come, carry the desolate
or itself become desolate like the broken glasses, seashells.
They have swallowed the echoes.
Standing on the shore,
the eternal desolation of waves seeps in me.
The sand is insistent,
it denies the overwhelming by water.
Here, in the empty desolation,
today is tomorrow and tomorrow is today.
Maybe, a ship will come, carry the desolate
or itself become desolate like the broken glasses, seashells.
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