Echoes from the Watchtower

There’s always a signal when history replays—

A whisper, a click, a call to the past.

Ravens and doves, Noah’s litmus test,

Measured the flood’s fury—its depth, its vast.

Now history stirs again in this breath,

And I am the signal, the echo, the trace.

One from the watchtower, sent from the ark,

To gauge the weight of this present plaque.

I chart the rise and fall in silent numbers,

Wandering through archives, gathering tales—

Of feasts devoured by unseen hands,

Now digested in separate, secret trails.

This dispatch comes from the sentry’s deck,

A voice from the clique that never locks.