The lines that hold the sails in tension now fret, or so the sounds they fake suggests, a keen low scream that might be just the gale that's set to lengthen distance to safe harbour, seen Through gaps between each white wave peak as if security were not what vessels seek. A night at sea we now embrace; those hours that threaten yet more dark, bleak prospect, perchance the likelihood to drown that sours each hope we yearn for, still cling to wrecked visions of last minute redemption lost. The highest waves seem to fall on us, break against the breach our skin makes when crossed through by water's power to make it ache. This night's too long for me, the dawn too faint a thought, to shame me that I make complaint. Sleep's a trouble, dreams pitch too persistent the stresses of the day before that dawn when truly come, promises that it's sent to build our worn self up, just less forlorn.
With love
Steven xxxxxxxxxxxxx
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