Imagination ‘pon a massive, vast,
And boundless harbinger depends. One that
The sea, unequalled in adequacy, may serve.
Within the ceaselessness of its supreme
And transcendental flux, phantasmata
May bathe in peace, unmannerly towards
The tempest who, in turn, replieth thus:
“Am I a captive of the dreaming sea?
Of everlasting pain and agony?
In quest of admiration constantly?”
And so the dreams that ceased to bathe reply:
“But nay, for dreams are requisites for joy
And opulence, if thou but trusts the sea,
Then love shalt thou forever feel, and love
Shalt thou be then embracèd by.” Said they
To him, who then obeyed and was reduced
To coolest breezes ‘neath the flawless sky.
With that, the orb sublime will sink into
Colossus. See! On my horizon sails,
Majestic, surely bound for Sandman’s shores.