Fog and wind are my kin,
The windswept waves my Mother is
She birthed me from her darkened depths,
Her Icy air was my first breath,
She nursed me upon her salty spray,
And nurtured me in her fickle way.

And when she deemed me to be a man,
She sent me off to distant lands.

Her Currents were my knowing Guide,
Upon her waves I did ride,
And Many wonders did I behold,
From shore-side castles to cities of gold.

But a long time has passed since then….

Now I sit, a scuttled ship,
With wispy sails and a rotted frame.
Beached upon the dry Wind-blasted shore.

I might strike out again, once more,
One last time…

in a skiff  without a compass or aim
To set out beyond the maps farthest known lines
Farther even then dragons’ dare,
Carried on my mothers tide.

there shall I take my final breath,
Icy, cloying and keen.
Cares stripped, all content, no regret,
Welcome Death….
Return I , smiling, from whence I came.