Ships and Birds

All this talk of mocking birds,
Where are all the doves?
When revision becomes complacent
And words are not enough.

I can not fathom the fathoms
Of the anchor that keeps me sane;
But ever so slowly, its been pulling
Up on the disintegrating chain.

My voice is hoarse from yelling
Out for Noah's dove.
My heart is hoarse from yelling
Out for the undeniable love.

The love for which these ships
Bask in an unfailing sun;
Yet mine is going nowhere,
And still it is almost done.

The rutter is underperforming,
The mask is broken in half.
Much like my hopes of returning
To where I was resident last.

Pictures in frames that are broken,
Cracked from the bitter waves,
Prove that at the time of my sinking,
I was already perusing the graves.

To my own death I offered friendship,
We can only say the refusal was net.
Tossed overboard, the water seemed starved,
And eyes closed, body shaking wet,

My dove I had long awaited
Flew overhead, and if it could talk,
It would say, "I tried to war you,"
Because in the end, all birds mock.