He is trying to hear his heart, apart
from the rushing tides of Euripus, nubile sirens sing and clamor,
naked, innocent, attempting to veer his skiff into those jagged rocks,
needing a reminder, first mate is gone, but his yell slaps him,
tie me to the mast, my body lunges forward but my heart halts!
Their warbles are drowned by Poseidon’s stirring gales and zephyr’s
that waft of home that warms his chest and rest,
fondling his brittle ship. He can’t imagine what its’ like anymore,
those towering foundations seem so far away.
The Cyclops peers dastardly demented, dangling doubts
of subjected furies and notions and feelings,
tearing at the limbs to piece apart truths with lies,
look outside the body heart, we have been through worse!
The Red Sun burns sails while the wind raises rapidly spreading flames,
dancing memories of dramatic drapes hiding pellucid cypress kindness.
Seas sizzling, his skin chard, those foreign maidens abide to heal
those old scars, falling at his feet,
his muscles bang and lam at all sides,
currents crash at turns heading for the river Styx,
we all are guided their eventually.
No comrades hold the bridge, he steers
one arm gripping the helm, another attempting
to shield the light to see what’s forming.
His compass spins like a madman,
deep grey collect like a murder,
squalls and swans flap frantically back west,
he grins and laments, mouthing Eros and pathos of that
pendant that hangs freely at his chest.
A portrait of beauty upon beauty, nothing else,
O will Eros survive such tragedy heart, please tell me old friend!
Mumbled to lightly, but none the less something is there,
He knows it, but he isn’t sure
if time will do them any good.
he peers at the harbinger culminating overhead without question,
one last look at his beginning,
or is it their end?
