My Tempest.

What am I, but a tender soul

crossing paths,

clashing swords, 

seizing my dear friend enigma 

amongst the storming clouds of even our 

brightest days.

I could sail against your enslaving tides, walloping sea serpents, and 

ever-widening waters as 

oceans upon oceans layer me filthy.

Please pardon my journeys,

as the vibes of my disheartened tone plague your confidence.

Comrades amongst your dishevelled lands

mark breadcrumbs for your swallows, for they 

are beckoned yonder.

But none too weary, such as I.

Author's Note

Speak the truth.

Reviews

[Warren L.G De Mills]

This was great especially the last lines. the lines "I could sail against your enslaving tides, walloping sea serpents and ever-widening waters as oceans upon oceans layer me filthy" beautiful. good job ! nice language as well.

[.........]

I'm pondering the last lines a little too much, but the first six lines are telling me that you are searching for meaning in things, "what am I, but a tender soul". You're allowing the truth to flow through your own perception.