Devil take hand’s plans and cut the arm
of the remote director’s worst wishes.
He is that which has sinned and begs
for your pertinent arrival at his door.
Silhouettes of the sunken ships of past
horrors float on the sea of his making.
See the storm that rises over the horizon
and shreds the timbers to the shape of
the handle which he bars from turning.
Let none in but those who sail alone,
irrespective of reflections within the ocean
of false truths that crescendo with Luna.
Blind destruction retreats and returns
as the helpless many watch without warning.
Shame on the watchman who knows not
when the immovable tide is breaking.