Atoll…

Oceanus Procellarum….
Mare Tranquillitatis….
Mare Insullarum….

I lie here.

Luna, my only confidant
Here on my broken island
in this shattered empire
of which, I bear the crown

The medicine I need to
repair these torn wings
can only be found here
It is distilled between words
traveling from my mind
to the paper

I chose to live in the mountains
But I visit the beaches

At night….

The sirens call
and the hollow place in my chest
drags me down
to the waves

I happily throw myself into the surf
of broken glass
Let it cut me to ribbons, screaming

“Take me! Drag me under the surface!!! I’d die a thousand deaths with you!”

But I’m still here

Tell the Maid of Orleans
I serve her still
I’ll wear this broken Armor
and ride to her banner

I found her deep in the
inland forest

She appeared to me
in a conflagration of fireflies
I heard her voice speaking
from the swirling galaxy
at her core

It makes my hands shake…

It tells me not to be afraid

But, she has a hurricane
behind her eyes

I fall upon knees
tortured by labor and age
crying out to the gates of heaven

“What more can I give?”

Surrounded by water in this place
But not a drop to soothe a torn throat
nor to cleanse these festering wounds

But for all my disgrace
she has not abandoned me….

When I am punch drunk on the shore

When I have bludgeoned myself enough
on the rocks of my uncertainty

She kneels next to my bleeding body
with powerful arms
covered in tattooed murals
of the days of my life

She pulls me to her bosom
so that I might hear that which she keeps
for me,
buried deep inside her

Is it any wonder why
I have pledged my life to her?

I’d joyously return home
to the bright shores of my
youth.

If I could walk on water.

Every ship I write into existence here
has gilded boards
masts that kiss the sun
but they remain rudderless
no matter how good my skill at the wheel

So I sink them in the lagoon
turn up the same song on repeat
earbuds so loud I’m sure my ears bleed
drown myself in music…

Until I forget their existence

and so springs another….

And another….

Until the wreckage rises
From the emerald water
slamming the door on
any hope of rescue

I’ll wander these moonlit sands
until I meet with her again

She will give to me a gift,

A life-sustaining heirloom of my youngest days
and say…

Rest now and be still…for I have been holding this for you.

And fearing no longer for the future…I will place a tender kiss on the naked edge of her sword and say,

“I am ready to go home”

About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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