Distracting my skin from the icy mist,
The horn booms in the distance.
The black horizon glows,
The moon reflected from our grave.
Misty white threatens to consume us,
Feet slip and rope drag against the deck,
Their voices grow louder as
Waterfalls of rain pour into the ocean,
My stomach grows as cold as the rocky face before us,
They hold on for hope and I let go,
Too late to turn back, I welcome the mist,
And all hands are lost.
Copyright © Denver Reese