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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2183420
A long rambling poem about what feels like a long rambling time
Leave [Closure, Part III]

Checked 69 at twelve four four,
sails set, early PM
Silent, sliding out to shore,
… he'd had enough by then

The 12th day of the second month,
his shadow left the room
A ghost ship sailed, out to lunch,
departed from life's loom

Leaving spaces left behind,
he sometimes hadn't filled
Lost in hindsight, hard to find,
the places ventured, milled

Where memories long made reside,
in gullys, running slow
With panic rooms left at low tide,
in galleys far below

with something lost, you never had,
why should it hurt so much?
A hollow vast, that echoes, sad
… reverberates as such

A cavity that should be filled
A space that should be mined
An area with purpose, built,
with faces hard to find

Rooms left void, unoccupied,
left vacant, never used
A summer house with sun so shied,
away... winter's confused

Baffled by just where we are,
the pieces off the board
Squares vacated, near... far
'midst all the rubbish stored

Hoarded, pointless, taking space,
where hearts so strong should beat
Spirits in their resting place
Final, spent... complete

With sins of fathers, falling fast,
from trees such apples fall
We hide in safe rooms built to last,
in longboats, standing tall

with masts left battered, fabric torn,
surrendered to the shore
Tasks in tatters, lost forlorn,
hulls empty yearning more

Like anchored ships in harbours, stowed,
so safe in shallow seas
Bobbing gently, ardour slowed,
a cargo that should be

Out there on the ocean's waves,
riding foreign tides
Charting paths with motions craved,
…. and shipping charts aside

Narrowboats moored broad in locks,
with trade routes long since failed
Secured safely in dry dock,
watching tall ships sail

Journeys that we wish we took,
with tickets never bought
Storms that leave us anxious, shook,
wrecked, nervous... sails fraught

Horizons red, start thinning down
and sunsets slowly blend
Not present for beginnings found,
… nor seeing how they end

All we have, a chapter's span,
our piece in puzzles vast
A brief respite of rapture, ran,
from first ports to our last

Some cross paths on calmer seas,
on journeys through the night
For some it's not that smooth a breeze
… even when a course plots right

Despite a lack of planning, schemed,
sometimes a route falls in,
so brief the time it's spanning, dreamed,
… too slow with where we've been

Despite such vessels matching, flown,
the colours we are flagged
Lashed in wind, so catching, blown,
too often, eyes are dragged

Torn to sea-bent siren's songs,
… Angels of the waves
Nights spent short, desires long,
days spent strong, we crave

Those moments when the singing stops,
where beauty can be seen
In-between the ringing drops,
it's silence that we glean

from the safety of the panic room,
where few have been allowed
For some it's safe to stay, presume,
their space has been avowed

Permitted... but not taken yet,
encouraged, or endorsed
With nights long, lost, forsaken... set
and days short, shot and forced

Sat dead out on the water,
the SOS cries out
Silent as it ought to,
lost in sighs of doubt

Hoping that they've noticed,
the flare that fires mute
Toned monochrome with sparks missed,
… a need, set absolute

Such ships retain their lessons,
regardless, where they lack
They leave a fair impression,
… as they sail into black

Marked by the survivors,
who line up on the shore
A Viking's exit guides us,
forging onward, evermore

To navigate such channels,
minus signals being crossed
Maneuvering through annuls,
with the minutes getting lost

There's effort in their capture
as stories dip and rise
Try making sure your chapters
are read by caring eyes

Read, absorbed, and taken in,
blisters, warts and all
Let them know they matter... Win.
Those long ships, sailing tall

with safe rooms housed in long boats,
they have their time... their place,
but when the flames climb, hope floats,
that's when you'll see their face

Checked 69 at twelve four four,
sails set... early PM
It's best not leaving, wanting more
… it will be too late by then
© Copyright 2019 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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