A Dirge for what's Dead

Grief is an ocean, fury crashing at the shores. Crashing till the fortress walls do crumble and fall, catacombs washed away, cruel rituals forgotten. Fury turning old, old pain from jagged edge to rounded stone. I shroud myself in ocean, heaving with sadness and pockets full of fury stones, knowing I’ll carry them all with me one day, back to that lightless womb, the centre of the world.