sailor's grave.

seventeen years of synthetic love, slipping through my fingers,
a daunting trek to the break of dawn, overhead clouds linger.
an inverted cross, with meanings misconstrued
i hear the sounds from underneath, the scream of truth subdued.
i can hear the torture in the break of every wave,
i see the oceans floor and every poorly-made sailor's grave.
dumped into the sea for the waters to decompose,
encased in rock and sediment, body and soul both disposed.
through their veins, like waters; flows blood.
yet their mind and bodies cannot resist the flood.
place your hand on my neck, can you feel my pulse any more?
no current to guide our ships, we're floating further without oars
drifting steadily out to sea, a crew lost offshore.
lost forever to the ones that loved them and the ones they adore.
father, son and the holy ghost. these figures we now abhor.
not one of these omnipotent figures guided us back to shore.