Warship Horizon

Your words are bracing like salt or a cold wind, 

but they cannot take me down with them, 

like Davy Jones with his cold tentacles

to the bottom of the icy seabed floor.

The sails unfurl and we blare on, ardently, 

towards our destinies of light and shadow. 

The creak of our flight is heavy on the sails. 

There can be no stopping this adventure.

A horn sound cracks over the trembling mists

and the lady stands proudly out in front, 

her chest bared bravely in a vibrato

I could never stand to manage. 

It's madness this endeavor, but we look on

for the brace of land and newly found 

excitement. In the haze we search for hope

and wait for muted cries on the wind.

There is only the screeching of birds and

the roar of what's to come. 

Chasing us on to a better life -- or death. 

Whichever we find waiting for us first.  

Poseidon's grasp is not the weakest 

But our sights are set on better skies. 

We fear only thunder here, 

and the roaring countenance of flame. 

So on, on to brighter dawn awakenings.

Forward to the pits of depth and wonder.

Tomorrow comes a sun we hope to master.