The. Dead. Wait.

One hand clasped futilely to a wrist
As the familiar below fades
Into the icy deep black of aging memory

Let go, turn back from the dark
The journey has only begun, but already
I dream of breaking the surace, breath deep the salt
To watch a decade of fury set behind

The briny waves which push the tears back in as
I continue to exist
This is what I get to do