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And The World Stood Still, As We Stood Overlooking The Ocean

Flowing on the winds of aspiration
Faith, in the sting of salt
A solemn clap of folly
Incamped firmly around my heart

Once, we tread the Ocre waters
Arc of triumph, triumphant stand
We marchers, of little valor
A grain of sand, clasped in hand

What of our trophy, what of our war?
Spire eyed, and bludgeon lipped
Of our benevolence, speak
Lay kindle to fires, writ, ever more

Shallow whispers, in the night
The smell of feral grease and smoke
While only shadows, wrought by ghostly flame
Bear true testimony, to our eternal reverant name

Oceans speak to me on a poetic level, they are a reoccuring theme.