I think it’s time to walk with my demons
before I walk with the gods.
Beneath the vast, unyielding sky,
the horizon where the sea kisses the endless blue,
a place where the world narrows to a line.

I stand on the edge, the deck beneath my feet,
where the salt air stings my face
and the wind howls through the steel and cables,
carrying whispers of forgotten fears and silent grief.
Here, shadows are more than mere tricks of light.
They are memories, specters from the past,
lingering in the corners of the mind,
echoes of engines roaring and lives intertwined.

To walk with my demons is to remember,
to feel the weight of duty, the pull of the past,
to face the waves that crash within,
the turmoil of loss and the storm of regret.
It is to stand vigilant in the dead of night,
eyes straining against the darkness,
listening to the deep, resonant hum of the ship,
a lullaby of steel and ocean.

In the solitude of the watch,
there is no escape from the inner tempest,
no place to hide from the phantoms
that rise with the moon,
drawn out by the quiet
and the solemn procession of stars.
These demons are comrades in a silent march,
their presence a testament
to the unseen battles fought,
the wounds that bleed without a sound.

Before I walk with the gods,
I must navigate this shadowed path,
honor the ghosts that share this journey,
embrace the scars that tell my story.
For in the depths of these waters,
where the abyss meets the light,
I find the strength to rise,
the resilience forged in fire and salt,
a heart tempered by the vastness of the sea.

Only then, when I have walked
this haunted trail,
can I hope to stand before the gods,
with the weight of the world
eased from my shoulders,
ready to face the dawn
with the wisdom of the night.
For it is in the company of demons
that we learn to be human,
to understand the fragility and the strength,
to find peace in the turmoil,
and to embrace the silent victories
that light the path ahead.