Slow, sad sails, empty of all their power, Wagging through the trailing mists of morning. Quiet decks, awash with fluttering foam, Robbed of regimented hands battening Quarter hatches, holes and starlit skylights. Each cabin lost of all souls except phantoms That shift in time like the absent Bosun's call. No hurried feet clambering the rigging For a glimpse of the dawn's early glimmer Riding the racing white horses into the day. Where are you now, brave, young crew? Aboard some greater ship en route To rich green-wrapped leeward Carib isles? Or, sailing away upon those heavenly tides To planes reserved for spirits beached Upon shores far beyond this tangible earth?
This will be the last of these kinds of daily poems. I’m going to continue writing the morning haikus, and I’ll occasionally publish other poetry in between, but it won’t be everyday.
You could say that trying to write a brand new poem each day for over 21 months has left me running on empty, and I’m not able to focus on the poetry that I want to.
I love writing, though, and I’ll always be here.
Thanks for reading and enjoying.
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