He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan

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.