i’m sailing on the spirit of waters—
a traveler lost to the rage of storms,
and even my boat fails in effort
to shelter these fears.
i’ve known the river’s depths, and tears.
i rumble. i tremble.
eyes speak of the terror before me
yet the heart dreams of luster ahead,
praying not to be ended. not to end dead
before sunrise. before the storm dies.
i send out an sos
but it only returns in the shape of a nightmare,
thus i kiss the water’s belly, and like christ,
ask it to stay calm
but faith dies somewhere within me
just two milliseconds away from fate.
be aware, this river knows not my name
its waves only hunger for my submerge
but why seek the fall of a guiltless man?
here, i hear the tides chuckle,
and i fear this mischief beholds my doom
but there’s a poem musing through my head,
not so subtle but gentle enough
to sing anxiety away.
i pause. i hear the poet’s voice say:
every lost sailor shall find their way home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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