Ocean.

Beautiful dancers crash on the sand.
They scream, they whisper, you can't understand.
Pale in the moon, blue as the sky;
Ripples, like mirrors, flickering by.

Horizon: A fishing line pulled across land.
Drawn by some mystical, imperturbable hand.
The same hand, in fact, that drew the white moon.
It's annular prowess cause waves to swoon.

I feel so lonely with the moon and the sea;
Like that lidless eye if following me.
That expansive blue blanket; I feel so small.
Like the sands to a wave, do I matter at all?