Like “Fire and the Sea”, this poem strikes me as a bit too moody, though I still like it a little bit.

30 May 2018, in Catonsville, Maryland

The highest Heaven will not grant us prayers
that by their very form and nature
cannot come to pass.

And so, however kind the gods may be,
we must remain as we were made:
a cursed and fallen race.

Thus, in this time and from this pain,
my only balm and only hope
is my most deep and heartfelt faith:

That the eternal, endless sea,
the wine-dark brine that surrounds all
will someday soon devour me.

“Oh gods! Oh deathless ones
who look upon my life and see
what fate has set before me on this day!”

“I pray, to heav’n most high,
and beg you let my being end
before it becomes more than I can bear!”