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Boats Harboured in the Port of the Soul

On the sand I’ve come to lie
Always saving breathes from time
In urns I’ve made of clay and sweat
They surround my peaceful resting place.
One lone jar contains my soul
Though it’s lost in these monuments,
For to search among those living familiarities
Would mean a lifetime of moment’s lost
So instead I slave, my castle built
In a jar myself, I wait, the ashes of a solemn youth
And fold the virtues of an ancient girl
Who’s statue rests along the shore
Her hands outstretched, brave, though blue,
And the face a work of art so grave.
She mocked my kingdom and my rule
Till she crumbled, and I understood
The fool I’d played, clay crashed in rage
I washed in regret, so much more than I’d ever felt
For my soul was bare and cold
And unaccustomed to the truth
I wept and cursed as the waters rushed
I left the walls and dreams I’d tilled
My clumsy hands had worn with time
Though lines of age had never appeared
And that girl, she shed one tear, I saw
For then I knew what I had done,
I too cried, and held her broken jaw
Pieced the fragments left, I made a bowl
And in it lives her heart and soul
Contained but free, so unlike me
And now I carry her, my penance
And my only saving grace
I succumb this time, accept my age
I will not loathe, and neither shall I hate
The life I lose is life I slowly gain.
Gnashville
Written by Gnashville (These Watery Eyes)
Published
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