Finding myself among the ruins of anticipation,

eager to feel strong gales blow and watch

palm trees sway in the midst of a hard rain.

I can sleep no more.

High atop a cliff perch

I built this home to overlook the sea.

An escapade of good intentions

with gentle Caribbean breezes

to subtle tones of shrewd business deals,

I left behind in Edinburgh.

I would convalesce as the sound

of the waves crashed into the rocks below.

Billowing sails of merchant ships and rumrunners

coursed the horizon into the deep blue.

Sweet came the summer rains

with hard gales blowing.

Marked by the sound of the merchant bell,

left alone, no traveler to signal,

only the clanging sound

that echoes through the gales

in the season of storms.

The sunrise left me searching

for treasures washed ashore.

Fair was your skin to touch, your eyes radiant

but grief stricken. As your story

washed ashore with the wreckage, a single soul

saved from the depths of Davey Jones locker.

The carefree hours I learned to love,

getting lost in you. Reveling with your soul

in elation when you chose to live again,

raising your head to walk along beside me.

The summer room found us in sunlight

I pursed my lips to the sweet taste of your skin.

Golden locks between my fingers, releasing every quiver.

Every sigh, hours of ecstasy broke the morrow,

as I stand surrounded by the deep blue shadows.

I held your hand as you pushed forth

the life that shares our blood.

With all the pride of a new father I watched

over you and her as the gales grew stronger.

The merchant bell rang out a song. Homage,

for the treasure given unto me by the sea.

Twisted rope high above the main sail,

a mast taller than an elder oak;

left me counting the score of open sails in the cove below.

The haste of my words left me pleading

beneath you to stay. You stood crying

in this season of storms.