My Travel's End by Iris Anderson

I take a shallow breath,

The stench of worked bodies and rotting wood fills me,

As I step upon a creaky stair,

That leads to the world above,

I feel a rush of cool wind,

With the familiar salt filling my nose,

I feel set into my routine,

As I rise a breath of mist dashes

Across my face,

I see a stretching shadow pierce the foggy distance,

I feel my breath catch,

After so long,

Shore.

I jump into the seldom used

Rowboat,

And glide across the water.

Towards the hint of green and red,

I see before me tremendous towering trees,

Bark like cinnamon,

With growing green

Shaped like the dreaded imposing dunce cap,

The water laps upon rocky cliff,

That tower from above,

We search for a beach to land on,

So we can make the trek far above,

Once found we drag our supplies

And boat on sure,

I stumble to the ground,

To my new home.