The Crashing of the Waves just before Daybreak

It's quiet, and dark.
This not a place where humans roam.
A long stretch of desolate beach, forgotten by the world of men, or perhaps abandoned by them.
It's harsh; there is no crystal clear water here, no brilliant sands of white.
It's a cold, lonely place with jagged rocks and empty shells.
Large cliffs surround it on all sides, leaving only a private reserve of land and sea.
Peaceful.
The sound of waves brushing up against the shore.
Not always graceful or delicate; often violently crashing down, carrying the native residents back into its unforgiving womb.
Some manage to escape, to climb out and return to their furtive niche.
Most do not.
Time exists here, but it is worthless.
In this place, concepts like time and space hold no meaning.
A rock is a rock; a wave, a wave.
Splashing.
Crashing.
Sometimes tearing at the shore, and yet at other times, dancing in perfect harmony.
There are two kinds of domains here.
The first is the one where the world lives, with sunshine and pelicans squawking gleefully through the air as the salty breeze offers it's morsel of the day.
The latter is one where only the creatures nature did not love may dwell.
It is a place forgotten by the things we know.
They are only welcome where all others dare not tread.
You see, for them, they only roam in such a place that is quiet, and is dark.
They have found the serenity of dead silence between the crashing of the tide, and a full appreciation of the glow of the moon as it breaks its cusps in favor of a rounder form.
Millions of small accents in the night sky; the only definition of substance and form, in an otherwise pitch-black realm.
The sound of a breath, or the pulse of a heartbeat, would overwhelm this place, and its splendor would be lost.
It is too delicate to be touched by man.
This world ends and beings every day; ceasing its existence as the golden hue breaks the plain of the sea, and birthing itself anew as that last pitch of dark red fades from sight.
Whoosh.. the quiet of the gentle wind caressing the of the silhouette of the skin I have lost.
Splash.. the uproar of the water of the sea washing away my thoughts of humanity and loss, clearing the mind only to see the rise of the somber moon, and imagine myself rising with it.
The dream of a dream life that at least once should have been liven.
The echo of this faded virgin soul is quiet, taken ever so slowly away by the priestess of the night.