The Dark Stained Triumph
Written by Enos Sopacuaperu
The line bleeds cold across a callous palm,
Where brine and bone debate the silent deep.
A man anchors in the frozen calm,
While distant shores and shallow spirits sleep.
He tethers dreams to what the waves erase,
A titan bound by hemp and biting spray,
With phantom victories upon his face,
And empires that the currents wash away.
What matter if nobody fear his spear,
Or if the quay is blind to what he brought?
The greatest battles have no witness here,
Save for the shadow of the beast he caught.
The obsession is written in the foam,
A silver crown devoured by the pack.
Yet rich with empty hands he navigates home,
The heavy sky a mantle on his back.
Let unearned trophies grace the crowded hall,
And fleeting praise belong to no one but vain.
He stands unbowed against the final fall,
Ready to row into the dark again.
For truth is measured where the fathoms drop,
Beyond the reach of superficial eyes.
The world may pass, the applause may stop,
But in the wreckage, this man will rise.