Sea-bourne

I often stared through that grated-

Wooden gate,

At a half that should've been whole,

Like two hands cleaved by an

Eddying mass.

A pier leading to nowhere

Birthed from an open wound-

It screams for connection,

But is severed by unknown hands.

I yearn for its weathered palms,

Gaze in envy at its steadfast resolve,

Intractably doting,

Like Thermopylae,

It gives no ground to the treachery

Of that light-strangled sea.

Indelibly graceful in aesthetic loneliness

Alone, alone...but, wait-another

Dismayed at the thought of company,

I'm in no mood for the cacophony

Of conversation,

But, eve' in the sfumato of the ever-

Churning bay,

I notice her siren-strange-beauty;

Tempests rip at the bones 

Of the planks that support me;

I've never been more still

Entranced, by, I can't quite see,

En-rapt by, her serenity

Aura, an eldritch glow

Teeming in the phosphorescent dark.

Never have I needed, like I

Needed her, bone-longing

My oft-beating heart turned

Salt and swell dividing-

I could take no more,

A-top the groaning post

I looked back, but once

To a defrocked world,

Heard the lyre of desperate angels

And wondered,

Whether gentle love was

Worth living as Werther-

Jumped before sluggard thought

Panted and proclaimed itself,

Head-first into the swarthy sea

Rip-tides tearing, gasping for air

But only singing her name,

Blinded by tide and terrified 

By her beauty.

So close, so close to freedom

So near, so near happiness. 

So close.

-Written by Cameron Morgan on 4-11-14.