Journal Entry 10-From a Young Man Swooned By Piracy
Candle light flickers it’s
rhythmic dance
and strikes shadows across this
brittle parchment
The sea is rolling, chomping at the boards,
angered by our trespass
I try in vain to steady my hand,
to write with even flow
The winds have long since
given up its ghostly attack
on our tattered sails
and weathered faces
Yet lines of distress are deepened
within the folds of night
As I sit below deck,
cramped between pickled eggs
and rotting barrels of gun powder,
my mind transfers images of
fields filled with flowers
I can still see in my hand, malted ale,
the taste of which still lingers in my mouth
I would pay my weight in silver
to touch land with my bare toes
And forgive the madness that overtook me
in the search of money and power
Amongst the sea of raging greed
and soiled men, I shall try to rest
And pray my slumbering imaginings
shall restore my hope, my optimism
for the long day ahead,
for the long trip home
Copyright © Marco Borda | Year Posted 2007
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