Our journey starts the die was casted it was ingenious yet indigenous to our past, casting shadows over station shoals then hear the cries of seamen when it’s beam unfolds. We our outward bound now let the fishing begin, as our nets are filling fast it looks like a win.
Gusty drizzle in the cloudy freezing wind as an electrifying cyclone is on it’s way in, the thunder streaking across bleak sky’s as men hurry for home in this people die. A gale has slammed this sturdy fishing trawler, the worried eyes! of men we can’t make it much farther.
Violent seas erupting over her vital railings, she has a fighting heart but she’s failing. The battering! sea it ferociously feeds, the crew is defiant! still they bleed. The blood curling screams! of man overboard, we scrambling needlessly our friends are no more. The seas lurch! this is not for the faint of heart, a shipwreck will kill diligently in the dark.
Disdainful recognition of this watery grave, when the sea claims her dead it’s intensely depraved. The useless electronics our compass was on the sway, this beaten up sixty footer is death on it’s way? Broken! docile men now waiting to go under, our limping little trawler awaits the seas plunder.
Then a gigantic flash! It’s the lighthouse beam! saying this is the way home I stand supreme.
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