Young Writers Society

Wisps of sea air
And looming mountains
Misted with the memories
From the deep halls of mountain kings
Siren voices on the wind
Carry – sweet and hauntingly
Here we are upon the ridge
Wraiths on the edge of a storm, within
Which we linger, moist in breath
Dwindle days of salty dreams

Sigh, the earth, before the morn
Mouthfuls of brackish, timeworn air
Weary, morose mysteries
Still clouded in the setting light
Bewitched upon the tiding soul
A ghostly ship sets sail before
The earth comes to a close

The water is cool and I so cold
The spirit is deep and vast
So caught between the neverlands
and the dying past, a future daunting –
Feet buried here, in sandy shore
But eyes focused on the foreboding

It’s here I slip away