Dining on the Ship of Dreams
by Odin Roark

Idle the waves,
Temperate the speed,
Port and starboard of ones life,
Balanced,
Righted
Afloat ,with winged calm.

How beautiful the setting,
Etched history of crystal refracting sun's horizon
While overhead beams of Edison
Highlight floral accents so small,
Yet to some,
So prescient in scope.

They love me, they love me not
Serenades us in silence
While Epicurean's silverware
Displays will-o'-the-wisp reflections
Atop white clouds of linen comfort,
Knowing their utility soon will begin.

Alone perhaps,
As all become,
But such a celebratory buffet.

Having chosen lightly from life's infatuation,
The naked salads sprouted from grist,
Adorned by dressings of mixed color,
Remind the palate where the banquet early began,
Once simply samplings of raw growth,
Now homogenized into death's sweet and sour disguise.

Inhaling deeply,
We beckon moist breezes,
Curve comforting auras about our mind,
Sooth unhealed scars within the heart.

Oh the remembering…
The remembering…

We pause,

Breathing blood red wine
Awaits our taste of resolve,
Even as the waft of espresso
Alerts our senses to tomorrows
Not yet lived
As steward in white arrives.

Insistence prevails.

Longing resists.

We ask
Might this be only one such night,
One such pause to consider yet another day,
Another breath?

Silence delivers the answer.

Dining on the ship of dreams,
Where imagination,
The taste of ones next actuality
Awaits Neverland's satiated moment.