Below the roar of dancing waves,
Upon the breath of sorrow,
Within the dampened hearts of wretches,
Hopeless as the rain that drenches,
Fearless yet not cold to grief,
As sure as a tomorrow.

It sleeps within a weary heart,
Forgotten by the found,
For it is not a waking power,
Worshiped rightly by the dour,
No, it cannot quell the pain,
It seeks to thus expound.

Yet beyond these anxious feats
For those, the scattered wise,
It is as peaceful as the dance
Or the many muttered chants
Of those who seek to break it with,
Their loud and strangled cries.

Do not fear the empty whisper,
In the dark of night,
It hopes to tell you of your fears,
Yet beyond its cheerless sneers,
You may find your heart content,
Beyond imagined plight.