A man stands on the wooden side of a ship, a cannonball in his hands, chained and clamped to his leg. He has no control over himself. As though pushed by something deep within, he takes a step over the edge.
Cold water engulfs
Light starts to fade
Darkness below
A plummet to the depths
Lungs begin to burn
Ears throb with pressure
The urge to breathe;
The ache for air
Still, this is better
Far better
Than staying dry
Buffeted by life
This life;
So temporary
In the quiet beneath,
he surrenders.
Waylen Ashwood 