Mirages; an ocean of hue
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is painted, each in a shade of blue
across this crescent sea,
where departed dream of me
and the waves come and go;
Crabs and the current row,
heave-ho, heave-ho, withdrawing undertow.
The deceased dream; to my heart
that rolls across a mirage smart
as the sea; chaos; beauty and knives;
Sea skies of raindrop, in hives
these specters hunt my soul,
fangs, and tusks, and knives dark as coal,
such dreary waves—they roll, and roll, and toll.
I pray; a simple sepulcher at sea
between the seaweed and emerald algae.
May we a heart’s entangle? Forever crisp
within Poseidon’s eternal lisp?
Chase no more, winged beasts of lore,
chase this motherless, wifeless, childless man, Nevermore;
my eternity will be as they are: remote; departed; absent from this shore.
Art is addicting, an addict am I,
truth is I, the truth am I, the truth a lie!