The Sailor

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When waves of life come crashing down upon my skin-canoe

And flood their storm into my lungs, I yearn for what to do.

It's hard enough to keep afloat with one soul in my crew,

But oftentimes the ocean's bear would buckle even two.

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'tis folly for a tongue to cobble words it can't unglue,

But rage can sheathe my heart ere crimson venom's all I spew

Or envy bites when bodies bronze crowd ev'ry avenue,

Compared to pallid flesh of my own childhood's residue.

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How preens my self with hollow praise, where steams of blood are due;

Such yellow hands entwine the mount of penance I accrue!

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Sometimes my sapling green takes root in soil it cannot chew,

When stronger oaks would shatter stone tow'rd all that they pursue ...

Then sorrows' mist enshrouds my lantern's light with tombs of blue,

And drains the sweet things on this earth of coldest warmth and hue.

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How grieve my purple meat and bone at unrelenting slew

That buried far from prying eyes churn deeper wounds anew!

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... but when the sky cleaves ope the clouds in tantalizing coup

'fore radiant kaleidoscope annuls their cloying brew,

A sigh beyond shores quiv'ring soul that wayward course is true:

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for all these ails I've yet to turn, I'm still a human too.

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