.

Neither do I hear I see no more

It has been a year I left the shore

In these strange waters creatures of yore

Here nothing matters as I explore

My tongue is a twister I kneel before

Pure silence or a careless whisper

Night and day turn into month-minutes

And the vast world outside becomes less than minute

From the Americas to great Antartica

I am the sole sailor of my subnautica

I travel through the cold seas of forgotten streams

Sad and salty prayers that each passing year breams

A thousand one layers gilded on an altar

Yet just as moss or mold its footing may falter.

.

Is the man made bigger by the journey, or is the journey made bigger by the man?