Sea foam spray and salted air, a lonely watchman standing there. His shadow stretched against the moon, gripping steel and humming doom. No flag to raise, no crown to claim, his home’s long gone, his heart’s to blame. He roams where lost ducks learn to drown, the tide his robe, the sea his crown. He walks the piers where secrets lie, and gulls cry low like widows’ sighs. Each board he treads lets thunder roll, each step takes toll upon his soul. The night leans back, afraid to near, for ghosts still trail the duck they fear. Salt in his lungs, sin in his veins, he drinks the dark like dredges of wine. No prayer to whisper, none to trust, just blade and blood and salted rust. The storm, it hums his name so low, a song for ships that won’t come home. And when the dawn forgets to rise, his shadow stays where daylight dies—a cursed old soul, the sea’s own kin, bound to wander, in endless pain.
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