The Ballad of the Forgotten
(A Warning, A Promise, A Calling)
The wind will speak, the tide will call,
And myths will rise like shadows tall.
Not all at once, nor all in haste,
For stories lost are not erased.
The earth remembers, whispers deep,
The things that time has tried to keep.
But listen close—when echoes sing,
The past returns on silent wing.
A tale will drift upon the sea,
A name will hum upon the breeze.
And when the hour dares to unfold,
The ink will bleed, the truth be told.
Not all will hear, not all will see,
For fate will choose who turns the key.
But heed the words, the woven thread—
Not all forgotten things are dead.
When the wind calls, I will listen. When the time is right, the next story will find you. Until then, watch the tide, feel the air, and wait for the whispers of the forgotten.
