Salt-Water of Me

All dreams, all prayers have prescribed cycles:

Cycles to complete, before lovers meet,

Before the unreal merges into the very real,

Before these notions can turn concrete.


Let’s settle in a make-shift home one day:

There is no end to this sobbing, as I see;

And if I choose to stay where I am and to feel,

I may drown in a flood of the

salt-water of me!


As they sing their bird-song, all the while,

In silence you plur, as if in exile.

The bare nakedness of the attire, she adorns;


She’s bred into reality, by her necklace of thorns.

In her eyes, madness! Each fleeting moment,

A brand new tale, as a trial for her hearing;

Her futile attempts fail to cradle to silence

The baby evolving, in her eternal bearing.

Thus a kingdom of a breed, with the Queen in exile;

A tear trickles down, a concurrent widening smile!