In the eye of the storm, the waves ****** me aside
I simply trust nature and lose track of time
Holding my hands, praying for a fire in the distance
Or does my fire come from within?

Yet, a sudden chill comes up my spine
A hollow voice from my cowering throat signifies
The promises of a towering Captain Abe
Is it my place to lead the way?

Soon the sea will ring the knell on us all
I hold my breath and savor the deep blue
Will it hail whilst I sleep with the crew?
Tis' not a night of doubt, but to survive till dawn

that I ignored
stood out
like the crimson cape
of the matador. And every

sword
he flung -
I ignored the
barbed edge

that stung.  I charged
ahead as I bled. Was it
pomp and circumstance
that led me to

this deadly dance? Was it
brawn that made me
float just like a swan? And as he
took a bow, standing straight

for the crowd
of his fellow men
was it I that then
saw the flag
raised again?

Let it elapse
Watch it flashing right past
Before eyes
Mystified
At the days gone
Aghast
At how so much has changed
Even more
Stays the same
And I’m older than
Ever before
I became
Mortal man
In his fallible
Fallacy
Folly
He thinks himself tall
Falls for her
Out in Bali
Enthralled
By he finally found
What he sought
Although not even
Actively looking
He taught
All he could
Still remember
Not quite a contender
For any awards
Except bested surrender
With fervor
Befitting
A fiery sermon
And still retrofitting
The Fates
I determine
With what I envision
Revision,
Rewrite
And reclaim every page
Like a thief in the night

Not for lack of knowledge, I languish.
Not for lack of wisdom, I'd indulge.
Would lusting after apotheogens
make it any less anything? I can

administer those transhuman
Cybran stimulants, posthuman
Aeon dissociatives, and atavistic
psychedelic trips, but my longing
for harmony and synchrony might
bid alchemy and witchcraft farewell.
Ambivalence, comfort, a perfect static
in which the Anemoi are bottled, swirling.

This auld warlock does continue to ponder
the mysteries of quantum metaphysics:
The study of the smallest constituents
identifiable in an act of cognition,
An effort to identify the process
of quality and likeness.

I didn’t write this poem for you
I wrote this poem for me
But in every poem I write
Someone, somewhere
Will see
A part of themself
In what I saw in me