Hope Flickers in the Reeds

Set sail in feathered ships mis guided by shattered stars and bent leaden sextants. A little white rippled tempest becomes a blackened water witch hatched from a devil's chrysalis sails are whipped and torn in half sextant and mast fashion a crucifix earth swallowed by the final horizon souls churn upon Poseidon's spitz. Slothful morning arrives amidst the frothy angel tide an armada of prayers ignite unable to buoy any sign of life. The last candle flickers in the reeds hope throttles down-to recovery.