Crossing

This was written during a time when I was first sectioned and then passed through the mental health system. The sea is an excellent and ubiquitous metaphor for the subconscious.

I am married to the sea,

I chose this long ago

And though she loves me not these days,

There’s water left to go.

 

Deserted by a crew gone mad-

Who, thinking they were fish,

Dived overboard in search of home

So desperate was their wish-

 

I voyage solo, cursing hope

That elongates my pain.

‘Neath heaven’s constant stars that guide

A course throughout her rain.

 

The ocean’s face has multitudes,

Tempests prevail of late

Who have the spite of widows green

And thunderous with hate.

 

Their hair is lashing sleet, their screams

Have snapped in twain the mast.

A crueller mistress few deserve,

For now, she lets me last.

 

When sated is the tantrum’s rage

Mayhap the sun will blaze

Then lizard like I kiss the deck

Immovable for days.

 

The company of rats forgot,

My dignity’s forsook

In intimacy with the sea

And nude from all she’s took.

 

I’ll see it soon, the shore, I’m sure,

I won’t and yet I must.

Horizons can’t recede for good,

What else is there to trust?

 

With time uncountable ahead

The maps are soddened through.

My vessel weathers every storm,

Broken and brave anew.

 

Whatever should become my end

No man was ever free,

Who wedded otherwise his soul

Except unto the sea.