ICH #1

Out of the ethereal realms we discover,

From under the helms where reason recovers,

Come the notes on sheets 

Without rhythm, keys, or beats.

A major paradox, an interesting puzzle, 

Where the sea surface shines of rubble;

Where the metal is tanned, and the leather fused; 

A combination, at surface, sure to confuse.

But the symbols are there, almost fixated,

On an essence that's not premeditated.

Yet even nature yields not the forces of separation

For the pieces to be parted in dual isolation.

Though, time will be your companion in finding the key to this.

Look forward for more, and soon, your pieces will fit.