Silently waiting amidst the full moon's sink'd smile,
Farfetch’d upon the grazing winds of steeping mountains,
Seemingly dead eyes, tear’d and wash’d and wash’d,
Flow of glaciers and broken crevasse - a sacred fig, lost?
No. yellow clouds; damn’d of darkness and stemm’d from beyond,
Of ye ol’ doubts and fears - so they say.
L’air is picking up - sails liberated from infinite prisons,
Ships began their ascension, ascension to the fault, to the abyss,
Stocks made up, rum thrown over,over,over.
Sheaths made dull, wanting for shine…
Damn’d after damnation,
Waves still as they are, tides unpleasant as always.
To change; changing; changed.
Deafening, defiling, defining silence.
Light of sight simply without its might.
Files of ‘smiles’ just piles.
Ships set sail…
The precious cargo along with them,
Skimm’d across the silver fishes,
Port’s empty now. Quiet. Desolate. Barren.
Left stranded have we been,
However with riches of the Brunei King,
Yet - oil need not be of laughter,
Gold need not be embracement if neither warmth,
Lost? My boy? Follow the Southern Wind.
Puppetry at hand. obedient.
Don’t linger too long here mon ami.
Ils sont déjà partis…the ships have set their bearings.
Alors, look cross past the laden horizon,
A new sun - new day - new life,
Prospectors alike seen this,
A half-turn, and panoramic views,
I’ve left of my memories and thoughts - no more, no less.
And look, a new sun, a new day, a new life.