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
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.