How to write ones final words? How find the will to carry on?
When I know this ship and all - all of this - will soon be gone.
Yet perhaps, if not my bones, at least my memories will be found
Amid the wreckage of a land where none but swaying palms abound.
So may the finder of this bottle bring these words I duly pen
To the family of the sailor - Kieran Dacey Boylan -
Though my body lies in rest beneath the roiling of the sea -
Know my soul forever soars above the verdant Irish lea.

Supernal shades of blue,
Best approached in early hours,  
Lend the land a joyous hue
Where the Morning Glory flowers.

The leaves are emerald hearts
With rambling stems and coiling tips;
Every searching tendril starts
As the glowing sun uplifts.

Prolific and with ease
The Morning Glory onward climbs
Over shrubs and over trees -
All are smothered in the vines.

But now the weeds have weighed
Upon this heart they once adorned
And I am stifled by the shade  
Where morning beauty stood before.

This residence is haunted
By no one but myself.
My room; a silent kingdom;
Yet is prison, and is hell.
Still-life inside a chrysalis;
My own skin forms a crypt.
The struggle to break free
Entombs me further yet.
It’s not that I am scared
Of the worlds’ one thousand things -
I’m scared that I will free myself
To find I have no wings.

The eyes of a deer she had; poised yet unassuming
And possessed with impish beauty, her gaze averted, now resuming
To assume a countenance beguiling and alluring.
All the night she’d naked dance with flowers in her locks.
Retiring by the day she’d rest her cheek upon a fox.
We’d walk the forest shade beneath the dark and sunless pines
Yet with a glance she’d part the boughs to let the sunlight shine.
Her step and skip across the stones was delicate and airy.
Thus concluded I, that she must be a fairy.

Recurrent dreams of butterflies; my inner vision sings.
I saw my very happiness dancing on the wind.
Metallic iridescence like a precious living pearl;
Their wings receive the sun as they gracefully unfurl.
My fumbling hands swat the air to cage my merriment
But wings of bliss are transient, so my joys must end...
Waking from my reveries I find myself content
That butterflies and happiness will visit me again.

That it was broken once,
Makes it precious to me now.
When the porcelain vase is shattered,
Embrace the pieces tenderly, and
Heal the cracks with gold.

Hatred came to fill my heart
But here it found no home.