the days creep slowly by now
deprived of beauty and grace
even the cheery, emerald hills
trickle azure tears of dew as
the sea pounds an angry fist
thrashing, foamy, lathered pain
mourning that angelic voice
lost in Triton’s watery tomb

but sometimes in the silence
of a chill-worn, foggy eve
I can faintly hear her laughter
floating softly on the breeze
and feel the sultry elegance
of her touch wash over me
calming my shadowy demons
like a peaceful, morphine dream

I know she’s waiting patiently
at rapture’s misty gates
standing in a flowered field
gazing down with gentle eyes
sparkling like the polar star,
guiding beacon thru the squall
to harbor me in loving arms
beyond the turbulent tides

Denver, Colorado '15