And the waves they lap the bow like gentle applause,
encouraging,
taunting,
tasting,
what failure has yet to come.
The current pushes on,
a torment.

You laugh,
my deary,
but look below,
the sharks' fin
does not slow,
as he follows you on your dreadful path,
anticipating
it will be your last.

And the waves they slap at the bow,
like a spanking to a naughty child.

And you grin,
you row on,
you just don't see,
The end is near.
Upon this unknown body of water.