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.
