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A Poem by IridescentMoon

Pressing through an icy sea,
Calling through miasmic air
To shores further the more I press.
Speaking in tongues cordially sweet,
Advancing with arms warmly wide,
Silently screaming an S.O.S.
Those on shore, if they do hear,
May call back upon the tide
But throw no rope to deliver me.
Soon, they say. One day, declare.
Yet they still stand motionless.
I meld with their vista perfectly.
So well melded, they turn back,
My calls departed from their minds.
Had they ever issued forth at all?
But their effusions are hearthly warm,
Honeyed promises given free
For every echo of my distant call.
Still no rope disturbs the waves,
No vessel headed to bring me hence.
The honey grows sour and coarse to taste.
But icy seas grow colder still,
Currents heave to crush the limbs
And lay my harrowed frame to waste.
Should I continue louder yet,
Clamour greater upon the winds?
This is not wise; the sound is shrill.
Cast my haggard arms further so,
As though to hold an earth's embrace?
Ill-advised. I have not the will.
A human mind heeds no command,
Winds will not be ordered still.
A vessel must sail at one's own behest.
Yet icy seas will shatter the soul,
Crushing tides will batter the bones.
Must one sink before acquiesced?

What deities forge so cruel a test?

© 2018 IridescentMoon

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Added on December 7, 2018
Last Updated on December 23, 2018
Tags: forgotten, trying to connect, alone, loneliness



London, United Kingdom

A late 20s dreamer and realist. more..