The sea is wide, yet none to hear
The ache I spill in each tides tear.
My voice, a whisper lost in foam,
Still calls the one who wont come home.

The masthead leans, a listening thing,
Carved wood thats heard my suffering.
She holds the wind within her grin,
And knows the storm I keep within.

My hands are warm, my heart is fire,
But coals grow cold without desire.
This bed, this hull, this salted shore,
Know not his weight, nor evermore.

The wind has kissed me more than he,
Yet never once so tenderly.
I dream of touches never known,
And taste a voice I've never grown.

I gave my soul to waiting's tide,
Where hope and heartbreak coincide.
He slumbers deep; too deep to hear
The cracking cries I drown in fear.

They call him myth; I call him mine,
My dark-clad knight, by stars malign.
He rides no steed, but silence black,
And never turns to journey back.

Would that I could burn this pain,
Let rage and longing stake their claim,
But even wrath is not enough
To cauterize this cursed love.

So here I sway, both fierce and frail,
A storm-veiled siren, sharp and pale.
My compass spins, my sails are torn;
Im cursed to love what wont be born.

O dark knight, rise or let me fall;
This drowning ache, this endless call.
But if you stir, if fate allows&
My lonely heart will still know how.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Chronos, in the year 979 AF.