There is a darkness that clouds my being.
Unjustified and without true form.
Or am I unconvinced of this feeling?
For even some ships cannot weather storms.
Seasons pass with slumber, my Enemy.
With daylight as a Friend to my eyes own seams.
These blackened ripped sails of antipathy
To longer grasp onto these mystic dreams.
I have laid ignorant against the wake
And blind to the mending needed to stitch
What guides me to hope and what’s at stake
A devil to pay, and without love’s pitch.
Searching for the horizon at the bay…
When and where are these promised brighter days?