Life in a ship upon the sea,
The voyage wild and free.
Days passing by.
Longing only to fly,
In the canon,
Left abandoned,
Swirling paints to form colors,
Shades unlike any others.
Weaving tales like crochet,
Rolling gentle white clouds start greying.

Signs of precipitation,
Aliteration,
Intrusive thought like invasions,
Ants controlling the nation.
Each part scattered,
Never mattered,
A call for help,
Unanswered,
All the colors of shame,
Self-blame,
Graying hues,
Darken a shade.

Path passing places I never planned.
An untold journey an epic of man.
Fireworks light up the sky in a massive celebration.
Frolicking Fabulously, through the festive fire flowers as a personal dedication.

Yet each masterfully crafted musical number,
Reaches a peak and then falls, as if in slumber.
The sea that once brought glory and prosperity,
Began to grow choppy, rocking the little boat despairingly.

The low brass carrying the composition,
Though a somewhat altered edition,
Not fitting the status quo,
The middle of the piece grows quiet and slow.

Like working a timed jigsaw puzzle,
Easily stressed or befuddled.
The boats oars lost in the throng,
But the masterpiece keeps playing on.

Ready to sink, no strength to swim,
Hope rising then falling. Again and again.
Lights go dim. Flames down to embers.
No one to care. No one remembers....

Quietly, a voice breaks through the darkened waters.
An aria, seemingly from all directions,
As it builds, the flame returns,
Again surviving its dereliction.

Through the fog, a light.
Not even knowing if it's day or night.
No oars, little hope.
Still can't give up the fight.

What was almost a tragedy,
Starts building with the symphony,
The storm still growing and blowing.
Lightening flashing.
Thunder crashing.
A cacophony of sounds.
Yet the light was unwavering.

Lightening again tears across the sky!
Thunder a tempest. No clothing left dry.
Shattering the calm with a deafening report,
That one beam of light possibly guiding to the shore.

There it was! Land!
Crawling out the boat. Too weak to stand
The light of hope,
Laying there on the sand.
Healing begins, with the first forward step.
Returning to the sea,
All the pain and regret,
But the sea had grown attached, not wanting to lose its pet.

Waking in a cottage, finding himself in the care,
Of the islands one protector, with Asian eyes and golden hair.
But during the healing, the maiden walked much too close,
To the shore, and the sea claimed her, he would see her no more.

Still trying to heal. Still trying to grow. Captured by nomads. Made servant.
They would not let him go.
Until they felt his time serve-ed.

What started tragic, grown to magic,
Just like catching a skwabbit,
His freedom he'd have it,
Just waiting for his moment.

Time was up, now inclined,
Had found love but was left behind,
Now a new goal came to his mind,
Time to try and a time to shine.

If he were a poem? Tragic epic?
Simple story hopeful, prophetic.
Not lost by the cost,
Though crossed and exhaust-ed.
Storm left the sea,
Set out, finally free.
Not knowing what he seeks,
Broke the mold,
Nothing. Can. Define. Me

© The Moonlight Bard