Stained Waves

Stained Waves

Stained waves rise and fall,clapping from heaven to the floor,their roar echoing through the chambers of time.

They crash with a sound that cannot be silenced,a rhythm older than breath itself.Yet within their thunder,there remains a stain—something carried, something remembered.

For even as the waves collide and sing,even as they break and reform,they hold the weight of what has beenand what we call today.

Life moves in these waters—clashing, clapping, calling—and in every surgethere is both cleansing and residue,both renewal and remembrance.

The stain does not vanish,it lingers in the depths,shaping the current,whispering through every roar.

And so the waves continue—marked, yet moving,broken, yet becoming—bearing the value of each momentfrom heaven to the floor.