I am the Ship

I'm the vessel that'll sniff out the wharf's of old,

they call me bold for bounding seas,

they whispers rumors of my unstable ease,

what's a life without vanishing into the falling pink fold,

Ululating tides spray brisk bounties of water on board,

squabs with new wings spread gloriously painting the blue canvas above,

a mast torn by zephyrs harshly bashing me forward,

gripping the banister awaiting the fading light to recede toward the underworld,

I'm skipping across these emollient waters staring at a tenebrous space

spreading like green wildfire dancing along tangentially, a lace across its face

fleering at my peripatetic soul tattooed along my heart with two soft sails,

I can't fail sidling through the fugue until I've docked on an abundant land,

not counting sheep instead counting stars and collecting them and creating tales

of those lost times between alleys where I heard those vivacious jazz bands.

I am the ship that seeks a shimmer solace,

innately bound to move toward places south of the sun.