The Chosen

What storm of this world can make it tremble,
this silhouette that I blindly follow.
How absent the world seems, as I view it,
black and alone, in the halflight of mist.

I care for nothing, conflate dream and day.
Such is my indifference, entwine them!
A last sunset peers dimly through the mist,
but it escapes me, I am truly blind.

For a frozen moment, I stop in awe,
we have come to the sea, how vast and dark.
Sighs, for which hope is a stranger, the waves,
they have not changed, they were thus in my dreams.

Turn loose thy storms, Lord, we will outlast them.
For us, your own blood, there will be no end.