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

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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.