They breathed in the still light

of a quiet dawn

emerging from

the storm-tossed seas

beneath the retreating darkness,

Their wounds a telling

and retelling of victories

and deep and bitter loss.

Yesterday is a lie,

the past a deceiver,

twisted by memories,

then stretched out

into a grey fog,

betraying truth

with the advance of time.

But something gleamed hard

in those eyes -

those gnawed and harrowed arches,

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that vanishing, flame-eaten span,

the pain that did not vanish

with the night.

They know this sea,

the dying place,

the verge of new beginnings

the phoenix shore,

the resurrection strand,

The eastern sea

where yesterday dies

and tomorrow is born.

The past was slain

with the sunrise,

blood red

spilling across the sky

ere it is scorched

by the golden dawn.

They linger awhile,

looking out over the

restless waves,

the ebb and flow of fate,

seeing, perhaps, their sins

being burned away

by the rising sun.

They will come back here

one day,

beneath another dawn,

to fall in silence

unknown,

and perhaps unmourned,

yet glorious,

to be purified

by morning's light

once more,

and die in peace

on that quiet shore

of an ocean

they refused to name