Bligh
Before the wind could whisper of a gale my tongue would taste its presence in the air, I’d feel the swell of ocean muscle hale up from the deep, although all else was fair. Before the canvas cracked, before the flail of rigging gave, before a spar could split along some sap-wrought weakness in its grain, before a cloud could clear its throat and spit
I’d know, as though I’d scried this globe of pain together with the One Who’d fashioned it.
I’m hard and I was born for hard command. I’ve hammered down the sun and stars and nailed their genius to my wake. I am the Hand of God at sea and I have never failed in duty nor have been by fear unmanned. Yet I, despite all this, cannot exscind that I am man who cannot fathom man and soft with men I should have disciplined.
I'm forced to map anew my mortal span, they’ve put me arse unbreeked, into the wind.
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