It's been a fortnight since I was captured in that sword fight.
The winds have died so I grip the oar tight, taking lashes that'll leave scars sure to be a sore sight.
They herd us up on deck at dusk so that in the poor light we can feel something that's neither joy nor fright.
In my line of sight, a distant island with a single mountain centers.
A thorn in my side? No. A thousand splinters.
I feel as if they were pulled right out them timbers that this vessel is made up of.
I look at my captors and feel something; it's not hate but love.
I look to skies and send a thanks above.
They take us to the starboard side and put all of us on a plank and shove.
My luck has been tested too often for me to approach this with true caution.
They see this as them dropping us in a blue coffin,
And the island in the distance will give us false hope of survival?
I see this as opportunity's arrival. Whether every wave I face is a small splash or a tidal, I am not a man they wish to rival.
Everyone swims to shore except the half-alive man next to me; he drowns as the ship leaves us and heads to sea.
The water cannot wash the pain off the flesh of we.
So I do not head to shore but instead swim towards the sun.
They think my story has ended but it has just begun.
I swim after the boat dreaming of sneaking on at night to put a slash to their throats.
I'll smile watching the blood on the captain's bedding run.
Unlike most, I see hope and not regret in the setting sun.
I swim towards it with thoughts of revenge.
They thought this was where my story ends but it's actually where it begins.
Had to post something real quick because I've been busy and don't want to no-show. I apologize for the rushed picture.