Calm are the waters of a slowly strummed guitar.
A voice echoing manna from heights unseen soars
beneath clouds leaden with sorrow.
I bring forward hope of other times swirling
on eddies of tide swell pulling my vessel further,
further away to the depths of a wine-dark future.
Blind are the deaf eyes of passive disbelief.
Taut are the fists the fight back.
Bitter are the tears of rain drenched in heartbreak
from failure and unknowing defeat. Hard is the heart
that rises on phoenix feathers from the ashtray of
this cursed earth.
Slow rolls the boat upon the wave of a rhythmic
pulse of angelic voices spinning tales hidden in
siren song. Damned are those hands that
feel no pleasure, the minds that see neither hearth,
nor hope, but rest among the foliage dropped
by another woman’s labour.
Open are the eyes that feel the lithe life
beyond the rood, and forgotten.
Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15 or