Pursuit (and may she ever run to me…)

In the fair calms,
on the sweet, rolling life-ship
with never a harbor to consider
or false smiles with wanton palms
securing forbearance.

In the moment,
those vast seas still and untroubled;
by the Bold and Playful Wind still unknown;
the bright Sun only moves like
an old sleeper turning.

But Sailors there,
wish for the rain cloud unburd’ning,
and rock beds by footpaths embos’ming young springs
to seduce tongue from mouth-top
to desert the dryness.

And I am blind,
coined lids sealed to horizons,
The thirst of my heart and soul all premier.
She is then my Aurora
to paint this fool’s darkness.

Now sirens call
and the famed sea-foam Enchantress
but I ever press for evergreen wilds.
She waits in the valley,
First Born of the Mountain.