Reflexive Silent Stadtholder or the Rarefied Sea Shell

I awoke to the august clamor of random atoms collide. The surf was gentle in its caress of my right side, my right hand at play with its rise and fall; while the wind did come to tease my very senses of places over visible horizons, its whisper making a mockery of tenderness over my left side. I was speechless; there was no past I could lament for here, no, not even the present, only a future as open as the sky above me. I echoed with the murmurs of the tide, wherein I heard my thoughts uttered in various turns understood and beyond the writhe of my tongue; I mirrored the enchantment of this sky eternal, where the distant lands themselves approached to shadow the stars. Leviathan did rise from the sea to rest its head upon my lap; and whisper to me it did one word with every dawning, that I might know the ways of the world. The stars in their falling and the clouds in their passage held the moment of every passionate portrait and dreaming landscape for my mind to bear. The sand of the shore and the mist from the sea brought the dead to rise, each sculpting visions of what had been and what would be, through the certainty of truth and heroic imagination, championing what it was to be remembered. I found my story here; it gave me a reference point in the tumultuary existence I had left at the end of my life, and with the last breath in my body, resuscitated from depths of forgotten care, I sighed.