The water was silver,

the horizon was red.

The ocean lapped silently,

his heart was open, his feet yearned to tread.

Across the wide expanse,

he could hear them calling.

His name whispered on the breeze,

the warm beckons enthralling.

A single tear traced down his cheek,

yet it wasn't his doom that he wept.

It was the life he was leaving behind,

the remaining memories that overswept.

As sharp cry struck the air above,

he closed his heavy eyes.

And as the white gulls circled overhead,

he felt his spirit reach toward the falling skies.

The moon that rose high above the clouds,

reflecting over the silver water.

Beyond the horizon, his kin called,

and this time he didn't falter.

And he felt death's arms wrap around his soul,

his head lain back on the ground.

And he felt another tear trickle down his cheek,

as the gulls cries faded to a silent sound.

The ships cut like shadow through the water,

slowly all his terrors began to pass.

And as the world around him faded to grey,

he breathed quick; he breathed his last.

High above, the pale moon shone brighter,

glimmering off the water as he laid to rest.

And his eyelids slowly fluttered closed,

as his soul soared home; as the ships sailed into the West.