A Passage

Its an evening Sunday sky
Dwelling on an empty presence of mankind

The sorrows of a wind-driven tide are heard In screeches, it proclaimed its abandonment

To whom shall carry the boat
And to whom shall the boat carry

Intertwined by the chains of rusting anchors

Baracating the voices within a manic mind Paralyzed in its state– cold and unwitty
In thyn purpose, it pondered

Has God created a soul to float in darkness Buoyant in a venomous cast of saltwater

To escape the grasp of imprisonment
To sail free, unbound to creating
In the land of God– to conquer
From the jebels of Persia to the home of the Pharaohs

Like the puissances of a horse

Herdaling into divinity– like an Arabian dame

~ a passage

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