My anchor has been compromised, and my sails worn by storm;
My body aches, and my mind is in tatters;
my will ebbs with each passing raindrop
Betrayed by someone I no longer know,
I was given a ship to steer, but never told that it was sinking.
Perpetually balanced on the crest of a wave, what choice do I have,
but to surrender to the will of the tempest, and allow myself to drown.
For who am I to question what I cannot control, I am nothing;
a mote of dust, suspended in a mere droplet of her fury.