the rift in the hull spoke of sunken treasures,
when it screamed its dementia to me;
a seaborne storm is no way to measure
the breadth of any man's bravery;
since no mortal man can stand and face
the terror of the ocean's foaming wall,
each mortal man must take his place
on deck and wait for the wave to fall.
when the seething red dawn was over at last,
i stood on a cliff and looked down to the sea;
the angry tide was falling fast —
it showed me my crew, staring up at me.
i thought i saw blood, but i couldn't be sure;
i was distracted by the peaceful faces of my crew.
there could be no blood, the water's far too pure.
i leaped down to join them, in the clear, shining blue.
1 comment:
well fuck. my spelling bites me in the ass again.
hah.
and, this is really well made.
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