The Wanderer Returns By Ron Porter
Across the vastness of the silver sea of pain,
in a cave in the land of "I don't know",
a moonclad maiden waits and weeps,
embroidering her comely countenence
with copious corpulet crystalline tears
and, fears his ship won't make return
On the marble temple porch of devotion,
betwixt obsidian statues of dolphins at play,
a duo of disciples lean close in lovers' embrace,
and watch the lone ship run ahead of the storm.
On the waves of the bay, a full moon reflected
unspoken hopes that, in two breasts does burn
On the slopes of the mountain of nameless fear;
alone in the apex chamber of an alabaster spire.
He watches the waves from his window dark;
the Prince of Intentions marks the single sail-
a patch in the dark and, tries hard to intuit:
just how much did the wanderer learn?
Hard drives the wind now, rowers bend their backs;
they outpace the tempest but just barely so.
Blood-dark seas slowly grow furious and feral;
a lone lean figure stans stiff at the prow.
So close now and again, yet so far from the shore, of
the hallowed home for which his heavy heart doth yearn.
Ror he said when he left he would come again;
nor be stayed by dire deed, death or disaster.
Now his resolve races with the storm's coming fury.
Only five more leagues but which will prove faster?
Copyright © Ron Porter | Year Posted 2012
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