Rudderless, Left to My Own Devices (version 2)

You are the boat, the hole in the ocean into which I throw my questions,  
and like a Delphic oracle, you hear only one frequency of voice  
on the wind. When the gale rises, leaves rustle and my lips move  
but your statue hears nothing and answers less.  
I throw my line, hook, and sinker, and catch a boot-full  
of promise, soot from a fathomless meandering river,    
the bottom-nourishing carp of my childhood.  
I fold my pieces of paper, my prayers for enlightenment,  
and tuck them between the stones of the Wailing Wall,  
dovening among those who would stone me dead  
were they to penetrate my façade to not-so-virginal thoughts;  
throw pennies into the wishing fountain, hoping something -  
anything - will light my horizons, shed moonbeams and hope.  
You are crystal, easily shattered, impossible to recast or blow into any  
shape I dream of. You are illusion, a spirit cloaked in a cloud with silver lining.  
You are a silverfish, burrowing and feeding on my history.  
You are more absence than presence.  
You are dark, (k)night.
Written by MayRayn (May Rayn)
Published | Edited 1st Jul 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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