From here I see the shipwrecks well,
Those final, unfortunate days.
I smell the salt, the taste on tongue
Of brine and blood and pain.
I hear the splinter, surrender oak
Against the twisting sea.
The ripping sheets,
The squall and haste,
The panic as the water breaks
And fills that cursed hull.
I feel the desperate lung trade air
For ocean, tears and fate.
I walk that plank, and vessel thrown
As life wades on the storm.
From...