Silken silver strings strung
Around the vessels in the brine
Intertwine , holding my hand
A battalion stranded
Tiny little droplets drip
They trip over the cracks
In the wood, the oaken deck
Into the seafoam it lands
The algae clad the bones
In tone of green, hues of blue
The barren remains of the crew
In the silver silken sand strung with string on a stranded vessel
“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.
My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole. “Steady the boat.”
I'm sailing away
on my own ship.
I don't need no crew
I know exactly what I'm doing
I'll be gone by morning light
to sail across the ocean.
If you want to say goodbye,
Instead just come sail away with me,
and we'll have the stars all to ourselves
I'll take you to all the places you've forever wanted to see.
Far and wide, there is no limit for you and I.
you remind me my dear, of a golden meadow stream
where the water moves ethereally like a spirit
with the drizzling sounds of a thousand ripples
on the nape of my neck; can you hear it?
because for me, it is all that i hear
when i wake, when i sleep
a river is what reminds me
of the love that you offer
The beast that needs to be tamed lives
within yourself. All the other despair
is smog being blown away by the invisible
mouths of those who, with cries and silence,
are trying to breath and move around
under water, trying to think which was
that one turn that brought them here
and started the person that became.
All these right-and-wrongs that are said
and also those who remain silent,
all these intentions toward a saved life,
and all these doors that are being opened
and closed, are so much like the efforts
of a writer creating a character for
a book that will be finished on a deathbed
and surrounded by teary-eyed beasts in human skin.
The sunflower's shimmer
As the sun hits the droplets
Of water, which were drying
Due to the sun, causing it to simmer
A child leans down
Staring in awe
At the sunflower
And the small water crowns
The child cries
The mother looks, asks the boy "Why don't you take it?"
"Because momma, I don't want to be a crook!"
The mother throws her head back and laughs
"To whom would you be a crook to?"
The boy frowns at her
"Nature and it's crafts!"
like the water
of a deep stream,
love is always too much.
we did not make it.
though we drink till we burst,
we cannot have it all,
or want it all,
in its abundance,
it survives our thirst.
in the evening we come down to the shore to drink our fill,
while it flows
throught the regions of the dark
it does not hold us
except we keep returning to its rich waters thirsty,
willing to die,
into the commonwealth of its joy.