The Saga of My Glory

Laying on my undulating bed,
resonating with the brutal waves,
my eyes gaping wide,
into the dark salty air,
occupying the insides,
of a shabby pocket-sized cabin.

Roars and Rumbles filling in,
as effects in the setting,
while my mind ponders,
the labyrinth of my thoughts.
Reiterating quests,
the quests that I once lived.

Yearning to discover,
more and more,
as the wait gets,
younger and younger.
I wait for the day,
the day of my conquest.

Traversing across this globe,
in the raging foamy brine.
Multiple scores of men,
waiting my direction,
hoping for terrain,
the terrain of our hope.

Aspirations fall,
as the count of days rise,
they wish to be dry,
dry of their fatigue,
and then I recite my saga,
the saga of my glory:

"Victory was mine,
the last time I voyaged,
unearthed a part of the earth,
unreached by our reaches,
until that glorious day,
the day it took my name."

Reassured by my assurance,
we resume our journey.
And now I wait,
wait for it again,
for the very same emotion,
the emotion of triumph.