Sunday, March 23, 2014

Fiction



Stories fill the cracks of this letter
and the canvas has paint left to dry

Left with some to reckon
and more to write

this story has been made into fiction
but the storm was the seine  of my transgression

Rogue wave counts as a savior
and ships get lost to sea

where they go
is between you and me.

I travel this road alone.

A captain of my boat

The rewards are weeping.

Not sinking.
There's a punishment for losing heart
and a strength for taking it.

My wisdoms have caught up with me
Like the tide I no longer sleep.

So this tale is not finished
My audience awaits me

Waiting for the next chapter to be written
An account of a compass and her sea.