The Realm Of Doom Or Glory

Midst the air, beneath the gulls, below the murk and gloom.
Among the swell, the living hell, upon the deepest tomb.
It doesn't care, for skulls and hulls, the his the hers and whom.
It's stories tell, of a watery cell, with no bias but plenty of room.

Encompassed by, a fickle sky, a realm that does die as does bloom.
Out of helps reach, a life one can't teach, where death like vultures loom.
Forget now the dry, no-one hears your cry, from a crypt no-one can exhume.
Be it land you reach, or a bottomless beach, you had best sing along to it's tune.

Amongst the frost, where hope is lost, a place one can never assume.
It's nobodies home, though it's never alone, no creature is safe or immune.
Where life is the cost, and all lines are crossed, at the whim of a watchful lagoon.
It sits on a throne, and does so alone, with a ready and effective platoon.

Lit up by stars, their lights become ours, a sight one can hardly consume.
For a short time they glow, they put on a show, a sight which like life ends too soon.
The rare light leaves scars, which bend our minds bars, whilst reflecting the tide from the moon.
I guess now I know, why people go, where they risk either glory or doom.

—Vinnie Sullivan

There could be a ghost aggressively breakdancing right next to you..... Same room..... Right now...... And you would have absolutely no idea 🤔 let that sink in

Journalism that challenges power comes with risks. Journalists who investigate, who go on the ground—who go to dangerous areas—should be supported, not condemned. This isn't "spectacle."

Often the best reporting isn't what earns accolades but rather receives censorship.