Sounds

Sounds;

Like those emitted from platters

composed of China,

after descending upon the floors of

polished granite.

Hear the sound of the cannons firing.

The impact,

drowning out all other commotion

for the briefest moment.

The sure ign of failure with open

wounds only to bring in heavy

amounts of weight.

Pouring in, sinking my vessel.

Splintered wood polluting the

suspended cabin beneath the deck.

Everything is dull.

Everything grows darker, colder.

Settling into the detritus, for my fate

will become the same.

Death, decay.

An everlasting eternity.

Perhaps in the next struggle,

will i construct myself of steel.