You cannot demand, or conquer anymore, being a prisoner. You no longer fight to be saved. Perhaps because the castaway hopes for a piece of land. The lost yearns for a sign that will light up the horizon.
Now however during the passing hours I become aware that I will be in pain on end and that perhaps this will be visible only to a single pair of eyes.
I wish to savor happiness thousands of times if I now can, since I know that I will just stand there looking at the games of the lover sun with the sea, his great mistress, laying my soul bare to them to whatever ruins your ongoing storming has left still standing.
How can you think of what is good and bad, advising me on what is the most correct, the wisest of choices?
I shiver at the thought of being enslaved by a soul which has not e
