| | "Ahoy," said the grandfather,like the clock on the wall,this ship, it sails on and on,rough and rolling,fighting with every beatof his heart -the hearth and mantlethat no ship owns -and a seagull squawksand the time laps on and onwith red skies warningand starboards mourningto the rhythm of his years,steering toward a beaconthat most don’t seeand fewer reach. "Beware, Beware,"echo the gasps fromthe deadly sea’s belly,as morning breaksand joy forsakesthis grief-besotted tragedy. Her lullaby allays the woebelow the deckin the hold where he holds her tightlyas the tightly-pulled ropescrack against the sailand snap, snapping himto cognizance. For Tennyson’s fading ladylay in a boat of silkand lavender after all.And Poe’s woeful Annabeltormented him with the spellof a lover’s last hurrah. "Je suis la fille; je suis ici,"the damsel on the catwalksings her song."Je suis ton coeur; je suis ton amour,"says the girl of his dreamsas he dies in the storm. (written 11.12.05) |
| | Posted 11/13/2005 12:09 AM - 34 Views - 12 eProps - 1 Comment
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