How brittle is the vessel of my boundless dreams
When briny waves crash longingly upon the shore
Of wisdom drenched in lust for peace! It seems
As though its hull has been consumed or pierced in war.
The sun is faint. The stars have died away and must
Have slowly slipped into the caving pit of space,
Whence certainty of will cannot escape the rust
On swords unfit to win a long and futile race.
The herded thoughts of ill and brutish minds are high
Upon the firmament where sanguine words should dwell,
And never can dry truth beset and burn the lie
Encased in gold on heavy monuments from hell.
Where staleness dwells, so does the antiphon of sand,
Outspread in layers, thick upon the ocean floor,
Unbending in its ruthless rage, resolved to strand—
Upon the rim of night—the fated ship of lore.
At last, what little love remains must ebb and face
The unsuspended void enveloping faint hope,
And then succumb to the pale ghost who wields the mace,
Or even hang by a most sturdy silken rope.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Copyright © Eton Langford | Year Posted 2016
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