New Spin On Victorian

9 02 2012

Oh, hey Tennyson. The Victorian age was kind of dulldrom. But I like those who opposed the common hoard. Here’s to you, and my favorite feral soul, miss em willz.

O Kraken! From abysmal depths you rise
Wrapping tentacles of wonder tightly
’round a sullen sleeping Mind.
The song of Ulyssian desire
Beyond the common, echoes.
Driving mad a restless soul, ready
to be lost, drifting upon the sea.
A life of aimless wandering; consumed
by Thirst for discovery of the unseen.

The tide is calling, I’m rolling away,
back into the ocean’s depths.
To be missed, the warm kiss
of sand caressing tired toes, but
weathered stones have  mind of their own.
Enmeshing feet–turtles trapped in a fishermen’s net.
Tangled, strangled–Looking for liberty;
to laze in the lucid Doldrums.

Thoughts crescendo with the crashing waves
while the undertones of the undertow
lure the traveler from land. Caressed,
undressed–naked and pure.
Unimpeded; the natural flow of water
obeys only the moon. Majestic
Mother of the wild sea, beckoning
feral souls to celebrate; to be
one with the universal Being.




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