6. The Shore

The stalking ship runs hard upon the sand,
The crew of hollowed men spills down the side,
I grip the fire’s stoker in my hand,
I plant my feet where shore hugs falling tide.

Strung corpse eyes trace glow with stolen spirit,
Their mouths hang wide with droning not their own,
Each step directed by Master’s linking limits,
Each huff expelling living blood to stone.

Yet I have solved their maze and touched the dead,
I wear the lich’s mark upon my skin,
Still fear finds ample room inside my head,
And God once pulled me up —> I beg again!

These puppet men overwhelm my key
To doors of light guiding home from sea.