We stand on the prows of ships,


    gazing across the unknown


    to uncharted horizons


    where nameless dreams


    pulse and flare


    like the breathing of stars.


    We look behind


    at the pearl-white sands


    like the bones of history


    cleared of memories by the wind


    that gusts along the icy shore.


    It''s time to leave this world behind.


    Where the ship is moored


    no shadow is cast;


    darkness is given


    to the broken thrones


    of men’s desires.


    In this bleak and bridled land


    they’ve hammered their ideals


    on the anvils of hope


    twisted by violence,


    resounding with the clash


    of steel on steel,


    and temper red hot passions


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    to collide again and again


    on these troubled seas


    where the fated are guided


    across currents filled


    with the drowned and the lost.


    I will meet your eye


    on this dead sea,


    blessed by the


    blood of the virtuous,


    paying no heed


    to the similarity


    of our scars,


    standing on the waves


    into which we''ve cast


    the ashes of the fallen.


    The cries are lost


    in the winds and the waves,


    and we are gathered together


    to gape in the drowning air,


    then to sink into oblivion.


    When I was a child,


    I sent a toy boat across


    the restless waves.


    I watched it vanish


    without a trace,


    I felt happy


    and empty,


    wanting more from


    life and hope.


    Silent now,


    sinking into the darkness,


    I dream of days


    now unspoken.


    How blasphemous to consider


    that there was a time


    when peace was


    enough to sate our


    feeble hearts.