The wind is high, the sky is pale,

The restless waves begin to wail.

With heavy step and weary sigh,

I walk where foam and sorrow lie.

The briny mist upon my face,

A ghostly touch, a lost embrace.

The ocean calls in whispered tone,

A song of power once my own.

I raised the storm with outstretched hand,

And bent the will of sea and land.

The thunder danced at my command,

The stars would shift where I would stand.

I healed the broken, cursed the strong,

I spun the fates, both right and wrong.

The spirits came when I would call,

The moon would bow, the trees would fall.

But now the tide betrays my tread,

It pulls, it beckons, filled with dread.

The salt, the cold, the endless blue

It knows my loss, it knows it too.

For all my might, for all I gave,

I could not bend the hand that waved.

No whispered spell, no arcane art,

Could change the course of one lost heart.

The waves rise high, they crash, they moan,

They take back all I thought I’d known.

And as the water claims my skin,

The sea erases where I’ve been.