sandy_hook_river

While lost in time, returning from Puerto Rico, sailing through a sandy-hook river, Simon Letti found a floating bottle with some weird-looking paper inside, which turned out to be a poem. He's still trying to figure out though, what he can do with that:

Whispers wound 'round rocks, rivers writhe, Meandering murk in the moon's muted might, Threads of thrumming, thistle-thought streams, Glimpsed through the gloom, gone unseen.

Banks bend backward, breaking breath, Currents carve cryptic creases; death Is a distant drift, dashed and drawn Into eddies of echoes where none belong.

Silver-silt serpents sigh, then die, Sluggish susurrations slip and fly. Yet within the wandering wake, Lies a language, languid and opaque.

Fluvial fragments fade, Scrawled on surfaces smeared in the shade, Speak in stutters, sharp as stones, But what they whisper remains unknown.

Beneath the brine, shadows stir, The Sandy Hook Sea Serpent's blur— A glimmer of scales, a ghost in the tide, A legend where dark secrets hide.

In Loch Ness, whispers flow, Where the ancient beast with grace does grow, In waters where dreams intertwine, An echo of history in its shadowy line.

In swamps, lizard men roam, Eyes aglow, far from home, A cryptid in murk, slippery and sly, A flicker beneath the night sky.

The Chupacabra prowls in shadow cast, Its hunger is a hymn, a threat that lasts, In the hush of night, it waits, A specter stalking through silent fates.

It coils through currents, a tale confined, Figures of myth, glimpsed and dreamed, In the whispers of waters, forever esteemed. Developed by

malanka