It’s icy upon the water. Far, far from all land. It’s still in these waters, as much as doldrums can be.
No crest of wave, no breeze touching the sails. It all ends here. There can be no more.
There will be no more fathoms to sink, no deeps to perish by. The sun bleeds red upon sea, under the breath of foul winds and the false star that guides them to this morrow.
There will be no more days spent like this. There will be no hourglass turned in idleness, despair.
No maps to spell what course to take. No flags to raise and calls to port. There will be nowhere to make berth.
There is just the endless tide, once it catches, and the sails filled with storm and rain.
There will be no more days upon this restless silence. There can be none anymore.
The trip back is one of years. On that day, I am home. I will scuttle this ship and kiss the shore.
I will be home. Let not fate, nature or man stand before me.