Fray

The storm rages against us hardened souls. The waves rack at the boat furiously. We cling to the flimsy contraption, as the masts of the mother-ship sink below the sea of those lost and cursed. Relentless they remain, similar to thine mind. The madness continues to pluck and cut at our strings of sanity.

The soldiers of the ancient oceans peak higher and higher. Attempting to besiege the ominous cloud gates of the sky with the refusal and denial of letting up. Then a break in the black clouds, revealing a white light, as if to command its own troops into the fray.

Rocking the boat continues, inching closer and closer to capsizing, much like that mind of mine. The battalions of sea and sky meet. Within even a blink of an eye, they vanish. Silence is all that remains, and all is calm; at peace. Same as mine and thine’s mind.

– K. E. Oskold

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