The ocean, an enigma,
A glorious illusion.
Stood before him,
The mighty adventurer.
His hair grey from winters gone,
Yet eyes sharp, from skills honed.
And now it had to be done,
The final journey,
To cross the sea, and flee.
For what is an adventurer,
Without his adventures?
His bride, in spirit,
His perilous companion.
As this land grew old,
He set upon himself,
To find a new land,
And even newer adventures.
But now, out in sea,
He doubted his strength.
He knew he could not
Finish, this perilous voyage.
For as he stood,
He felt his strength seep,
And he felt death in the deep,
Waiting, just for him.
Death was an old friend.
One he met a lot.
Taking its victims,
He knew, give up it did not.
And as he stood on the bow,
Of the great masted ship,
He looked at the froth,
Below, into the great abyss.
And saw, his legacy.
A legacy, to be forgotten.
For who remembers the pioneers.
Only the mournful.
And as the seas grew wilder,
He decided, to change his course.
Others could find that distant land.
For him, this was the end.
And so he plunged,
Into the gnarly depths below,
Into the cold and uncaring embrace,
Of the sea, the mother of all.
And journey he did, to the deepest of abysses.
Till he reached, his destination.
And faced death, upon his grim throne.
And began did he,
His final throes.
