Set the night a flame with light. No light shath ere be summoned. As he cannot but stare into the shadow of time. Tongue would crave the kiss of salt and wave, to cleanse it of the foul word wrought upon the stage of living. A game too broken to play, and yet all people play it. With that hand of shadowy remorse. I would hold the fibers of his being and let not the storms overcome them. And he would wish to slip away into the surge of dreams not ours to bare. As difference  unseams time, and the sky looks down on the water. Claim that time what fix a broken eye as it look to see again the way of friend. And yet the time it take may be the break itself. For as one ever knows, the ocean shall always be there. Yet it's never the same ocean twice