Ship resting at a harbour is just a grieved flank spectator. A candle I carry with me, in a box for the Mighty Journey. An Icy wind inside the ship. You can feel it answering everywhere. Foamcrest quiten down as Im slowly approaching the shore. I hung on its wings. Feel the whips of golden winds. To the twilight we flew, far away to the skies. Timeless rhytms of snowflakes falling, bringing us the cold. Covering the ground white. Contours and shapes now dominate the scenery. Darkness sneaks upon us. Am I just falling into a dreamless dream?
foamcrest, quiten, rhytms, ship, grieved