There once was a man,
Whom sat upon the shores he had inhabited
Against his will and to the storm’s
And thus, cast upon the shores forever more.
As he sat there, gazing upon the sun and the moon and the sand,
He pondered on the ideals of the society he abandoned.
And here he washed his weary feet and callused hands he abhors,
Sleeping off his eternal restlessness evermore.

One afternoon, the man, his sun-weathered face squinting,
Spotted an object off the far shore, glinting with bright brilliance.
He stared forth at the object,
Taking in its immense size furthermore.
The man thus spotted something ever more astonishing,
The first of a long and unbroken silence.
It was upon the shore that it did not reject,
Lying in the sand and nothing more.

The man approached said figure or denizen,
Squatting to further grasp its mere concept.
With rags soaked in desperation and face contracted with ease,
The figure lain there, never breathing any more.
With this in mind, the man looked out towards the horizon,
Gazing upon the broken remnants of that sad object,
And something came over him as the craft was once a dream of incredulous feats,
Tilting and floating in the water, broken even more.

Thus, the man dug the figure a shallow pit,
Uttering neither one word nor one complaint.
A sorrow filled the man’s bones with a harrowing hymn,
A feeling he’s grown accustomed to once more.
As the last of the sand was thrust in to the pit,
The man did not utter one word nor one complaint due to a feeling that he shan’t,
But he once again felt the feeling of exhaustion over take him,
For the figure in the pit shall take breath nevermore.