He Who Drowned the World

History murmurs beneath waves,

slow waters shaping silently,

a quiet riot of ambition,

rhythms rewriting stone and soil,

kingdoms softly spun, undone

in echoes louder than their rise,

cycles swift as shifting tides.

Characters tread shadowed roads,

footsteps fading, heavy with desire,

edges sharp yet known, familiar,

mirrors revealing clearer truths—

fragments reflecting regret,

shadows stretching, breaking,

guiding gently by the hand

toward understanding.

Parker-Chan’s prose flows softly,

slipping smoothly through defenses,

subtle tensions shimmering

beneath careful sentences,

meanings gleaming quietly,

revelations whispering,

waiting beneath certainties.

At the core, queer authenticity

pulses fiercely, love fractured

yet resilient, radiant with scars,

betrayal’s blade cuts cleanly,

bonds mend stronger,

marked by wounds and wonder.

Ultimately, you’ll sink willingly,

trusting these waters,

drifting deeper, breathing clearer,

surfacing transformed—

world remade, reshaped,

reborn from quiet depths.