Butter

Beneath the wake.

Beneath the harden sailors feet,  
lays open waters,  
that go so,
  far,
far,
far,
  Down-  
-that no one will ever see their depths.

to drop form the night,  
into these glistening froth
is the faith of everyone whom travels the seas,   
It will not be a peaceful end,     
it will be one with the thrashing of waves,     
it will be one that doesn’t leave a sound   
it is one that every sailer knows. 
Even the ones of the stars. 

will they be recalled?

will they be searched for?

or will there lifeless husks

travel the open waters

for eternity?