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.