Its an evening Sunday sky
Dwelling on an empty presence of mankind
The sorrows of a wind-driven tide are heard In screeches, it proclaimed its abandonment
To whom shall carry the boat
And to whom shall the boat carry
Intertwined by the chains of rusting anchors
Baracating the voices within a manic mind Paralyzed in its state– cold and unwitty
In thyn purpose, it pondered
Has God created a soul to float in darkness Buoyant in a venomous cast of saltwater
To escape the grasp of imprisonment
To sail free, unbound to creating
In the land of God– to conquer
From the jebels of Persia to the home of the Pharaohs
Like the puissances of a horse
Herdaling into divinity– like an Arabian dame
~ a passage