Visions above my bedspread…

 

Let the wind take control of the tiller

Let blathers change the idle weather

Who am I to see those hungry dead?

Mount visions above my bedspread.

So, they wail for forgiveness - mercy!!!

But, I’m not their judge nor direly,

Their executioner, henceforth, be gone.

I am only 6 or 7 I’m never an aeon.

Thoughts aroused, now so far flung…

Why do they plead in a Gaelic Tongue?  

With their dozen heads severed cut-off

Thoughts accrued the anchor castoff-

Hauled back, was, this once my - Bon Voyage...