short fiction · 2026-10-15

Tidal Sonnet

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The moon draws silver curtains on the deep, Each pulse a breath the ocean softly heaves. In quiet hours the waters wake from sleep, Then sigh and retreat where moonlight softly leaves. Two tides a day, the heart of water beats, A rhythm older than the first sunrise. It carves the shore with patient, steady sweets, Then pulls away, leaving foam‑kissed sighs. I watch the swell like verses in a line, Each crest a metered foot, each trough a rest. The tide writes sonnets in the brine and brine, And I, a listener, am truly blessed. For in its endless, ancient, measured sway, I hear the poem that the sea will play.