“The Atlantan Resting
Place” I sway up on the
foremast In a headlong arch Unequaled in grace, Over the edge and
down I slip While wisps on the
wind I chase. My line of departure
So sudden On the windward side
failed The next moment in
time I saw but the
bowsprit, And splashed At the swells telling me to stay With the cold, confusing spray While only the salty wake I
hailed. In a matter of short
seconds I was bobbing in the quiet
fathoms Of tiny droplets
Uncounted and fused
Since the birth of time's continuum;
The sun and sky Peacefully peering over me into
space, And the tiny local habitat
Beneath the prismed
surface In their mirrored
translucent brine Queried my place, Probing my taste; While the tide bore
me under Into the realm of
it’s aqua micro-life And a lapping
blue-green embrace. I the awkward spectacle In an endless world at
sea, Mesmerized and
stupefied, Petrified, yet
paralyzed, Floating topsy-turvy. I then suddenly take
comfort In the soon-to-be
release Of the tiresome,
daily toil And the painful burden of
being me. Now in this peaceful repose
Of the enchanted
liquid rainbow Surrounding the
wallowing plunge Of the depths of my
being To six miles below I take aim and shoot
the sun out With my last
conscience arrow; Teetering on the edge
of forever With the last release
of my bow. I contemplate my God With a final injured pride, And steer a straight
course To oblivion Yet my heart so little
tried. Maybe if I hold out my
hand I can carry my
symbolic weight And stay this
execution, Cheat my watery fate; Before I sink Below the freeboard Without a human trace In a spiraling
downward motion To the Atlantan
resting place. wbiro |
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