The end of all things.
When the water fills my lungs,
Will I be alone?
Will memory conspire to set my soul
Adrift on vestiges of bygone days,
Expel the mortal horror from my gaze
And drown me in the joys of old.
Will fantasy compel me from the waves
With glimpses of a new, untainted life –
To walk unhindered on the sea of strife,
My shadow sinking to his grave.
Or am I bound to reap as I have sown,
Confined in cold and breathless depths to wait;
With neither sight nor sound, a death awake –
Descending into dusk alone.