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[Sailor]

I travel to the east

With one eye set in discovery.

Ragged, forlorn, but bathed in creativity,

My verses are versed in misery.

Frail, I need to conquer my terror:

Crossing the waters I am averse;

Hoping my anxiety doesn’t get worse

At the hands of Loneliness, the Perverse.

The winds took us to the cape

Where hope is enslaved;

Where thousands of names are engraved

In the waters where life is waived.

Then a tempest took my body

Down into a bottomless pit.

I was scared, sobbing not to submit

At the hands of Woe, the Misfit.

Alas, my sight dims.

My breathing, now so frail.

Unsteady hands terrified to hail

All the gods that cursed me to fail.

May the poet’s king of Lusitania

Spread our story in verse and rhyme.

Here I have fallen in my prime

To journey deep into Helheim.

[The Wraith]

Weep not, grieving child,

And close your eyes.

I’ll sever all of your ties,

One by one as your body dies.

Sing me this:

A verse that can make me remember

All the pieces I had to dismember

From my ancient body of frost and ember.

[Sailor]

Chagrin, mortality’s curse.

All beauty, ashes in a hearse.

Bliss, parched earth ever obverse

To the dark plains all must traverse.

But save me from this fortune.

Walk with me in lakes of tears,

Of a thousand fathers crumbling on their fears—

A desolate melody of the spheres.

Alas, Deus vult

I’ll follow you to the abyss.

My body, flesh for the waters to kiss

Now that I hear Death’s final hiss.