The River

Receeding these desolate shores, watery looms play on my vision,
The mysterious gloom and ebon fog veil the infinite sand.
One single myterious rotted ship moors at this depressed pier,
Enshrouded by pain, the shadows of deaths unseen and unheard.
Concealed figures posessed by forces unknown shuffle single file,
Drawn ever onward and forward neither by curiosity nor excitement.
A silent orchestra, trailing into the darkness of the ships mast,
Resonating silence the reward for these tormentors of the living.
For these indiscernible masses, crimes unnamed they will pay for,
For these forlorn languid souls, death shan't come quickly enough.