In enshrouded depths,

  where lunar gleam wanes,

  Unfurls a chronicle of waterborne remains.

  Mute sails ply the Stygian expanse,

  Adrift, souls veiled in mystic trance.

  'Neath night's obscured embrace they ply,

  Their vessels sable as the raven's eye.

  Afloat on a murk, portentous gloam,

  They navigate the aqueous unknown.

  Through ripples imbued with arcane runes,

  They steer, hearts ablaze, their souls marooned.

  In each crest, a hushed supplication,

  The boundless sea, an enigma's foundation.

  A zephyr that moans, a lament's lament,

  Stolen story; please report.

  A chilling brush, a phantom's descent.

  Their voices resound, adrift at sea,

  The watermen, forever unshackled, forever free.

  They cast their nets in abyssal troughs,

  Where dormant souls repose, where shadows trove.

  Their catch, a harvest of the forlorn,

  Destined for shores of the cursed, unborn.

  The moon, a distant, pallid eye,

  Watches them with a curious sigh.

  As they traverse the unfathomable abyss,

  A dance of demise, a spectral kiss.

  Beware the watermen, dread enigma clad,

  With eyes like chasms, souls long gone, souls sad.

  In inky waves, they find their realm,

  A watery tomb, a ceaseless helm.

  A dirge of waves, a lamenting cry,

  As they sail beneath the desolate sky.

  In shadows deep, they dissolve from sight,

  The watermen, bound for endless night.