Then...
All I have, are merely a conclusions
Or, maybe, brittle shapes of ice.
The ship as drifting wreck, prepares for the arrival
Escorted by the seagulls and dead mice.

And Captain Will, disarrayed by Grand Ambitions,
Still staring blanky at the stars.
Six feet of soil, and one more tale of fiction
Reflect on surface of my window's glass.

And if I fade, don't blame it on my manners,
Or ,perhaps, confidence I lack
I'm faithless still and that is all that matters.
First fade the symbols on my neck.