~9~ 12/22/2019 6:56:58 AM
Whether my call of nerve be overshadowed with those poets who’ve gone before, I reel in the characteristics natured from salt and spray, to sail the seas is where my freedom may lay.
I sailed the schooner’s wake for six days straight, and only once met a lady I’d not liked to date; for her character mean and sprite, a nymph not quite as straight, purging like the stealthy mug she forced upon me.
She’s made me feel as ambushed a threat, all the daring womb she’d hang for all to see, her belligerence came like the early morn’s fog, as if in search for her shame and a falsified ecstasy.
You see, the words appear before the night-tides swallow, as a darkened depth for some to follow. And in her candor, I’d like to say, you’ve served me well, in white foam and spray.
Upon my succeeding charter within the Alaskan waters, and Vancouver Bay, I’m accompanied by more than obscurity and black, I’m remedied by peace of mind, I’ll ne’er look back.
My past and shove shall be delayed and noted, but whispers I hear from the siren’s seas, silenced for my lack of their song, lack of urges and lusts, I’d emasculate myself to quiet this hell.