An Ocean Unadorned – a poem

Should we weep for lost days?

When does awareness become dire?

Questions without quandary,

Ideas lacking attached weight;

Dreams all, or rather before,

Now become real possibility.

*

I need no name nor title,

The Nameless shall suffice

For me to represent deities

Long dead, gods of thrones

Still crumbling;

Timorous whispers sough soft

In elsewise silent sorrow.

*

The loss of ended days drawn

Up from rivers quieter than graves

Bathed in silvery glow supine,

Souls of sad lives lost, wept for

Within poisoned honey skull combs,

Yet regret not, for my will

Is as the ocean in storm.

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