The Final Storm

I lay dreaming as the yardarms howl with ghosts

  upon the wind,

screaming down: “Your crew is lost, it’s mutiny once more”

 

One voice to dare my choices strong

and shed that bitter sleep,

my past the drowning child of its dark and rocky shoals

 

As tears release and fall like rain the tiller

begs forgiveness,

old memories drift away in fear and sink within themselves

 

The time has come, as fate calls out to man the heavy sails

and chart a course into the swells

—one final storm to brave

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm

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