I am of the sea,
starched, awash in brine,
battered, dizzy at the helm,
wind-whipped, countenance corroded,
sun-dried, hardened at the edges,
decaying, rough-hewn of the Ages,
replenish, inter me where the tide is High.
~ ~ ~
Immortal
disclaim me not
In mahogany nor pine,
but find me ashes
blowing in the Wind
~ ~ ~
Phoenix
and from the storm arisen
spawned of blackened thunder
by haste the calm ensues
despair made chaste,
chased beyond the moon
knows hope Renewed.
~ ~ ~
Cycles
I am perpetual motion,
born a sojourner
finding no tent,
destined to meet my end
wherever I’ve never Been.
~ ~ ~