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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.

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