The Longship
Awake as an owl
a desert bird
the orange eyes
the streetlamps cast
upon my wall
a shadow
like a longship
on the desolate
wasted oceans
or only my lampshade
dark shroud with fire
to sleep perchance
to dream of that bier
my temporal bed
in the night
of toilsome thought
where can a man
sail on his own
but hasn't seen
the tread of another
none save that twilight
enter the maw
the maw of the void
where all shall cast
off into its depths
save I a sailor
awake on the shore
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philippanhorst
Let my works speak for themselves for they are a reflection of that which I am: the Piedmont, the old maritime coast, and then the ocean.
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