The heart beats still

A poem inspired by Mediterranean sea-towns

I've seen an ancient sea-town surf the crest of a cliff,
where the people and the salt air weave together, inseparable.

Their language is food and their dialogue is poetry,
inked in recipes older than the cobbled streets.

I remember hearing a trawler ease into the cold morning water,
early morning conversation steeped in warmth and routine,

the waves' rhythmic slap against painted hulls, steady as a heartbeat.
I longed to join the ritual, set off and see the beauty from the sea.

I hear it now glows in a way it never did before—
neon veins pulse through the hillsides, where vines once climbed.

And that drones now circle like the gulls,
not stealing food but delivering it.

But the people, the heart—they remain as immovable as the cliff itself.
The heart beats faster, but it beats still.

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Full album: https://civitai.com/posts/11904803

The heart beats still

I've seen an ancient sea-town surf the crest of a cliff,
where the people and the salt air weave together, inseparable.
Their language is food and their dialogue is poetry,
inked in recipes older than the cobbled streets.

I remember hearing a trawler ease into the cold morning water,
early morning conversation steeped in warmth and routine,
the waves' rhythmic slap against painted hulls, steady as a heartbeat.
I longed to join the ritual, set off and see the beauty from the sea.

I hear it now glows in a way it never did before—
neon veins pulse through the hillsides, where vines once climbed.
And that drones now circle like the gulls,
not stealing food but delivering it.

But the people, the heart—they remain as immovable as the cliff itself.
The heart beats faster, but it beats still.