Wailing on the shores abyss ever
yearning the light to shine once again
But the night consumed all effigies
of hope stealing them to the heavens.

Each new light signed the eternal
funeral pyre of those never to reach
the shores. Only to be swallowed within
darkness reaching but never touching.

Each wave that takes upon the bows of
vessels now guided by those past before.
Showing them safely to the port of
needed hope where foot touches land.

But in calm there is always angr beneath
The surface, angered by their taking waves
of vengeance try with force to take what
was taken forcibly from themselves.

Eclipsing the decks, clasping upon those
persuading of wanting the tranquillity of
what yearns below. But anger surfaces on
its wrathful taking feeding a cycle of hate.

Eyes are wide open, gazing at the heavens
through blurred and distorted vision.
Either anger or peace greeted them in
the slumber of drifting waves.

The essence of the sea was present upon
every wave, either gently caressing each
they slumbered on. Or effortlessly trying
to entice others of weak will to the deep.