Capt'n of My Heart

My Dearest,      
     
The crippled shape      
of your words reached      
my atrium today, slightly      
squeezed before filling      
its chamber with content      
     
Metaphors of melancholy;      
a congregation of meaning  
lined at the stationary font    
of Holy-Watered Belief    
     
Such intricate calligraphy    
exposing delicate vulnerability    
so perplexingly genuine      
     
Repentance behooves me;    
patterns my own quill    
having etched various      
designs in sorrowful motif    
across personal existence    
     
We all, through experience    
sacrifice innocence      
upon an altar of misstep;    
     
Momentarily surrender      
balanced logic to mistakes      
we'd later regret    
     
These Life-altering Teachers      
of consequence puncture      
the landscape of History      
with the contrast of Dreams    
     
You beseech Forgiveness    
to ease the burning of Moments    
and summon Hope    
     
But I say yesterday is gone      
and what was never Lost      
needn't be found again      
     
What sin is so grave    
to warrant waving      
a Sun-Dusted wand of Grace      
before any Human presence      
     
I am neither Jury nor Judge      
over the blueprints of others      
except for those of myself      
     
On the contrary, I am You    
I am Her, Him and every One      
between who've thrown stones      
     
I have no power to bridge regret    
nor heal wounds except to move    
forward with Time's Love      
     
It's all I know    
     
The Absolution you seek      
waits Patiently within Yourself    
     
Whispers, "Come Home to Us"    
     
     
My Dearest      
Page 2      
     
You seem so good at leaving    
So adept at forming Goodbye    
from an alphabet Null and Void    
to my stationed vocabulary      
     
I always envisioned Love    
as the First Mate of my Heart    
weathering swells, repairing sails      
navigating obstacles    
     
You Jump I Jump    
No matter what      
     
Until our ocean found its shore;    
our bonfire its song    
our lips its rum      
     
Maybe I've been wrong      
     
All I've ever known of survival    
is being left behind      
to stay the course      
     
Abandoned at the Helm      
or Universally separated      
by unveiled dishonesty      
     
I don't know how to give up    
or why I still Believe in something      
that hasn't manifested itself    
in this long Life I've lived    
     
Perhaps I'm meant      
to pull anchor, turn starboard    
and sail straight into the Fire      
     
Alone      
     
Who knows. . .maybe someone's      
on the other side      
having already been through      
     
Maybe it will be You    
perhaps that's where you've gone    
unable to bear watching Us burn      
     
And maybe You'll say      
with a smile on Your face;      
     
" What the Fuck    
took you so long? "      
     
My Dearest      
Page 3    
     
I do not profess knowledge    
of that which I know not;    
all I can offer is a Spirit      
that won't surrender      
to the lack of Faith      
nor promise      
what isn't mine to give      
     
That even Lost at sea    
with little or no provision    
there is happiness      
     
The Future is her own Mistress    
elusive to any grasp    
and constantly summons at will    
     
We are powerless to her pull    
yet the method of arrival      
is of our individual choice      
     
We'll stumble, our bones breaking    
persist, rejoice, succumb      
to the disease of showerless days    
and detoxifying stench of rot    
on our skin    
     
Beg for fresh water      
     
Maybe we'll feel ashamed      
try to cover our naked imperfections  
exposing weakness in the hull    
     
Shame can become a deterrent    
refusing to reach for a buoy      
in shark infested waters      
     
Opting instead for ravenous jaws      
to scatter its sinew and blood      
across the current as fish food      
     
It can be an excuse overthrowing  
a weary Vessel in weakness;  
a Mutiny against Love;      
     
an unholy insurrection      
becoming the new      
Capt'n of Your Heart:      
     
a cold, unfeeling hollow      
of Living Death      
without the fullness      
of tears and Joy    
     
Or, it can be squelched;    
led Northbound into the rocks    
a failed shipwreck of debris    
     
While You cleverly double-back    
South for the open horizon      
of possibility      
     
Like the True Pirate You are  
and Capt'n of My Heart      
   
All My Love    
   
T    
     
~