My Own Ocean

December 31, 2009
Above waves of capricious ideas
A clandesine ship sails solemnly
with bow made of starlight glow
and a stem of pure gold shine
The rudder heeds loud amblivalence
and the gundeck is loded
with hateful amunition

alone the captain cries
for a beacon of sound advice
a way out of doubt
and tiresome sorrow
but the map is blank and
the wind knows not which way to blow
The captain chooses to drown herself
and as she readies to meet her end
she yearns to glance one final time
at the vastity she plans to leave behind

and, somehow, it appears

the beauty she couldn't see inside herself
espied through the lense of a crusted scope

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback