With its hands reaching up towards the morning light, the sea smoke arises from the ocean’s depths, much like a tsunami’s swell. 

The mist dispersing the waking sunshine as though shadows masking angels’ love. Nature’s beauty both subdued and accentuated by its intemperate veil.

Truth, at an indeterminable distance, peers out from behind the horizon. Its intentions unclear as dark clouds contrast heaven’s brightening backdrop; though, change arrives anew. 

Warm airs and a welcoming sea breeze clear the haze, and the purple hues of morning blend into blue hues of day. Apollo’s vision pulling away the penumbra of Poseidon’s uncertainty.

No longer afar, the Truth comforts the coastline and defines each moment. Never arriving, yet forever pursuing, its presence known as is the Sun’s. A sovereignty seen, touching reality with life, albeit outside mortals’ reach.

Lighthouses but failed attempts to resemble the resident Immortal. The light of humanity nothing more than a glimmer in the mist; yearning to construct celestial presence by its own means.

Though, in mankind’s midst, the mere words of Truth are, for most, both deafening and blinding; hearing not its peaceful sound; unfailing love unseen by those who know not what they see…

As though sea smoke on the surface of calm waters, a purgatory of passive preponderance. 

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