Young Writers Society

Night engulfs the frozen land,
Clouds hide starlight's icy band;
Ocean tides swell, flooding hope,
Struggling survivors struggle to cope,
Only to sink in depthless sand.

Time freezes in the summer heat,
Swelters in the arctic wind,
Blackens with the scars of life;
The arrows of time have no sheathe,
No bow for the sword of chagrin,
We must take their cuts in strife.

When will you come to me,
Sweet sailor of the Aegean Sea?
Must I dash myself on the rocks first,
In despair of awaiting you?
Or do I sail while you sing, cursed?

How many years must we wait,
For the sands of time to become rock?
For our footing to be regained?
Someone has sealed shut the gate,
And lost the key to the lock;
Our existence becomes maimed.

Life seems to be on the mend,
The clouds disperse and dawn draws near;
Hope overcomes overwhelming fear.
We think the dark is at its end,
But find it finds us once again.
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I don't know if this is that great. When I wrote the first version (which is the first and last five lines of this) I was in a much different mood than I am now because my cat had only recently disappeared. I'm not nearly so grief-stricken now, but maybe the new lines still strike a chord in your heart.