Ship to Shore

Ship to shore,
I’m broken, weary and coming home,

Searching for a cosseted port of call,
Alee of an approaching maelstrom,
Haunted by the fervent great white beast,
In my brittle dory on the boundless brine,

I’ve been aimless at sea far too long,
I’ve been lashed firmly to the splintered mizzen,
Heeding angels infecting my head,
Paying dearly for the song of Sirens,

I’ve drifted endlessly, achingly wantonly,
Upon a maddeningly windless Sargasso,
Waiting, hoping, dreaming for a wisp,
Of a seductive breath to rescue me,

I’ve clashed with monsters of the deep,
Fought all that Mother would dispatch,
You haven’t more for me to perceive,
And this old man’s vacant shell abates,

Consumed by the lure of distant sovereigns,
Tracking elusive twilight and daybreak,
I angle my cap to the scuffle of being,
The erudition of obsessions unknown,

I beam at the cerise diminishing orb,
There be fair weather on the morrow,
Initial stars beckon me to the abyss,
With God’s alluring whisper of night,

Ship to shore,
I’m broken, weary and coming home.