The brightness of the waves in thunderous dark,
Pushed his feelings far unto the stars,
As inward to the deep he made his art.

Living in his path, were deeds apart,
As freedom rang, in hunger, of his heart,
And he dreamed illusions, of his start,
Hoping heaven's freedom, was not far.

In the darkness all he feels is pain,
And nothing new, is left of all his days,
As he waits, and waits, to someday save,
The little left, before his end of stay.