Melanchony, strikes,
As the words of 'morrow and yesterday
Collide with the memories of crystal years
Long gone.

Treachery, shed,
Of the eyes that held the torrents
Of black seas and drowning sailormen
Hope-filled for voyages.
Seagulls abound.

Melodies, heard,
Of the heavens up high beyond yonder
Clouds wafting in a demonic dance
Almost whispering
Almost calling
Breeze a-whistling.

Ancient walls built up with
Perspiration and efforts on the high-calling
Somewhere in the back of
One's mind.

Delicately woven with golden silks of
Hope.