I was born in the south. I live in the south and will die in the south. This is only a small part of the memories I share.

. . . Sliding, dividing, the broken mariner's bones

Beard so gray, pain so deep, reality masks her sighs

He stands blinded, chided, sea foam peacefully moans.

. . . Crawling, dying, expiring life's glimmer dies.

. . .Continents, lands, red treasures given to groping hands

Ravens venge a silent girl in silk, lethal glares.

Her little feet, cricket's lips beat, and old mariner's lands.

. . .fairytale tales spun by fires of old, truth rent, clothes stares.

. . . Old, crusty, bent mariner spanning 'cross a harbor grave

Lizards cry, eagles die, and he refuses food for breath

Ship hands hide for fear of fiery hand and truth she gave.

. . .Let me crawl the walk of sure abyss, wine and death.

. . .His first mate cutting ropes falling 'round neck of fear

Growling incantations, similar relations, sand frozen once

Maidens run in torn cloth of servitude crying mercies dear.

. . .He was her passage, her bread, safe and dunce.

. . . Crush surfaces of forlorn blood spilling fast

Ne’er knowing breath-to-breath in days or hours

Falling quickly into her loving lips cast . . .

. . . As time marries life with jealous death declares.

© 2019 Kenneth Avery

Comments

Devika Primic on December 13, 2019:

Amazing! Love never dies even when old.

Chuck Nugent from Tucson, Arizona on December 09, 2019:

Wow. This was quite a poem. Good work.

Joan King on December 08, 2019:

Very intriguing poem. I enjoyed it.