Damning the totems to realm in endless abyss.
That which is forged here may soon be remiss.
Should the waves keep a churning and the skies tear past wide.
Breeding of torture fashions the stormiest ride.
Sail for me under empty moon.
Blood is my failing.
I gaze for the loon.
Pitch in the motion as the ship she does roll.
Battered in by whats slow.
Haul up the skins and race to the edge.
Bargain for treasures that won’t buy a single bed.
For oceans are a calling and those you should heed.
No other locale will you feel peace and at ease.
Sail for horizon and dawn of new day.
Cannons are loaded.
Deaths on its way.
Yet for the masses do these tales not sit true.
For they are jaded beyond feeling too.
Pester my crew and a long walk you’ll take.
Off of the plank that will seal your fate.
Not a word spoken of where you might ultimately fall.
For fear is a gripping crippling call.
Set off the journey to conquer the seas.
Mermaids and ghost are talking all the time to me.
Yet madness is seldom unless consuming the salt.
If that is what you’re doing I’ll spare you more fault.
A shot from my flintlock.
A blade through the chest.
All options are better than withering to death.
So heed my words as fractured as they are.
Or drown in the depths of merciless liar.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 