After the burnishing of my soul,
after the tempest to chisel
all intents and purposes of temperment,
and after the inferno of doubts
lashed fitfull across desires parapets
so then did my ivory tower,
lined with foregone literature,
encased in silvery moonlight
and the euphoria of sun
breaking upon the horizons breadth,
offer one poiniant respite

The promenade of crystal ships,
left to moor along a starlit coast
would carry a phantom army-
words wisp of substance
tentative between the grey matter
of clouds, the teeming panorama of hope,
and the Styxian depths of regret

My thoughts are as in equal profundity
of danger, for a whims gust
may send any one overboard
or aimlessly afloat