Sometimes you have to cross great voids
With arms that know you well;
That feel, before the bend arrives
That you are steeped in hell.
That scoop you up, then drive you on,
To make your final stand;
Then jettison your flailing arms
To lunge toward the sand.
The time will come to take the piss,
My brother- not today;
For we are steeped in glory, both-
In each and every way.
© Tom Tide 2016