Distant Warmth

Falling to the ice of the atlantic

For going in search of distant warmth.

Heavy heart.

The mind scream. Do not think it.

All will be well

Falling to the ice of the atlantic.

The wind shook the world, the time was up. 

This is how it ends.

Free fall.

Beat of the waves.

For going in search of hidden warmths that only glow after gold offerings. 

Little fickle of lights.

Sailing to empty harbours,

But it's freezing here,

With the dead and the rot

And the midnight sun.

That the promise of the desert,

and its warmth, seemed worthy of the pain of the burnts.

And this wind blows so hard, dismantling all the metal around. 

It doesn't carry prayers anymore, only the promise of turning me into the nothing I am. Deep down the seabed, in a plundered ocean with  nothing left.

The fear of the death,

Coming suddenly, and accepted.

Where I go, no one waits for me.

All ends here.

And all will be well.