The boat lurches ahead
the world’s wind filling her thirsty sails.
The wise eyes painted on each side gaze somberly
Possessing sole knowledge of the outcome of this journey.
The outer reaches, with its hundred islands,
Do not typically welcome strangers,
Wary of white faces, dead races.
I meet closed doors and scared eyes through shut blinds.
So I sail on, unwilling to stop
For rest, water, food, or talk,
Rather, I prepare and sometimes sleep,
Briefly though, as I fear to dream.
The spray of the sea, the smell of the breeze,
The taste of the salt in the wind,
Help ease my dreads and allay my thoughts…temporarily.
For I know shadows travel quicker than light.
Mastery of names and change, binding and illusion,
Will not win this foolish fight, my plight,
Against a foe born unto nightmare and spite.
A perverted, mocking shadow of my own mind.
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