Distraught and overbearing, ceaseless, yet ever caring. Monstrous moons of cloudy descent, forgotten tides of unearthly portent. Repent, seas, give back the sailors whom gave their lives for you. Give us more than smoke signals rising from the carcasses of forgotten vessels.
Muscles rippling under the stress, pride dying an untimely death. Forget the moments in which you live and forget your breath. This is the time, and this is your breath. Breathed by time. Breathed by time. Breathed by time. A full breath is a gift, a catacomb holding days past, a garden holding futures not yet living. Tidy and unkempt, but hard to know which is which. There is an unbridled satisfaction in adventured dissatisfaction. An unwieldy joy designed for bold action. Let the tides and the moons and the clouds be rolled back. Let them be pushed by our vessels, the winds pushed by our breath. Let us be the butterflies that cause tornadoes and then ceaselessly repair the unforeseen damages we have done. The future is so bright that I close my eyes and still can not go to sleep. Yet the see to get there is darkness itself.