Earth, wind, fire, water,
Set the sails forever;
Crossing territories forbidden,
Ashes of memories strewn;
Into arms of the breezes,
The Moon overhead, watches.
The lone ship is laden,
With merry-makers all drunken;
I stand tall on the ship's bow,
Looking over great sights below;
I am being pelted by your shards,
Of silence; stabbing me so sharp.
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar