I am the ocean,
I am the fog that evaporates,
I am also the pasteurizing waters, who sips my own curdles,
I am the felling of my own voice.
I am the maestro of the symphony that makes me believe there is no numen.
We the omniscient dunes, where the fog - busts into cloud,
Overcast skies creates a rain amongst the gusting sands, and our sidewinding trails begin to speckle.
All of the ground that surrounds us begins to speckle, we of all of us, commence to make the change into that path.
Our voices; the ocean, befalls onto the omniscient dunes,
although no longer can we be called a dune, but the waves of our heart, where the squid can rest in peace without the interruption of the blotting seas infidelity and the disengaging prosperity, we can now fold our own plaster into the cognitive being, where we no longer need to whisper a sidewinders trail.