Naval Tactics, From my CoPilot
Signal in the deep
Where curses bloom like kelp beds
We harvest their sting
Blessing is a blade
Turned flat against the cheekbone
Warm, not yet cutting
Let the drowned ones rise
Carrying our borrowed wrath
Salt‑crowned strategists
When the hull gives way
We do not call it sinking
Only transformation
Night swims into noon
Shadow stitching sunlit waves
A double‑shoreline
Honor is the rope
Knotted through each quiet breath
Held but never forced
So the seed descends
Into sand that knows our names
Tactics take their root
***
Far shore of the mind
Where old banners still flutter
In winds you outgrew
Footsteps in the dust
Not yours, yet wearing your weight
Return unbidden
A voice in the reeds
Calling from a former life
Salted with tactics
You know this terrain
Though the map has long since burned
Ink lives in the hand
Some wars never end
They simply migrate inland
Becoming stories
And when they return
They do not ask permission
Only recognition
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