My ride is on the road's margins;
arcane's my path in dusk's glory,
Some lost sea gulls know my story,
peculiar listeners, burgeon.
Lone soul revolts - deflects the pain,
was it one spell or more? In sea,
(half sleeping birds on a marquee),
conceived the crews of ships - and vain.
The distant boats travel bitter,
onto their trip of lone grandness
I reached the moors and storm's madness,
the three fates weave my life's knitter.
In air they float towards my past,
their spell became a sky's thunder
my life won't be torn asunder
while the ship's seaward trip contrasts.
My past's a track that draws away,
arcane the spells reversed inside;
did you invite my life to Hades,
to end the road race of Sunday?
© 10/28/2012, All Rights Reserved