Corpses On The Seabed Dwell

Corpses On The Seabed Dwell

The wreck lies open like a wound that never closed,

Timbers split and scattered across the ocean floor,

Metal bent into shapes that no longer serve a name,

Everything reduced to silence beneath the weight above.

No light reaches fully where they have come to rest,

Only fragments drifting down in weak, broken strands,

Enough to show what should never have been seen,

Enough to prove that nothing here was spared.

Bodies remain where the sea has chosen to keep them,

Settled into places they did not choose as their own,

No movement left within what once held warmth,

Only the shape of what has already been lost.

Clothing drifts with a slow and endless patience,

Threads loosening with each passing current,

The last signs of a life worn thin by time,

Until even memory begins to lose its hold.

The ship itself offers no shelter or protection now,

A hollow frame that echoes with what it once carried,

Every space filled with absence instead of purpose,

Every corner holding the weight of what occurred.

No voices rise to tell the story of that night,

No witness remains to speak of how it failed,

Only the seabed holding everything in place,

Keeping its truth where none can reach.

They dwell where no marker can ever be placed,

No stone, no name, no line to mark their passing,

Just endless depth stretching out in all directions,

A resting place that will never be disturbed.

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