the rain had washed
all that we dreamt
and wept for
leaving a trail
of what it tore wary
in blossoms ashes
and any curing aid

funny how
in those moments of severe
and artistic values
no songs were sang
no books written

but how we picked flowers
just to burn them
blow away with the smoke
and drift into a bliss
a colorful yet empty haze
a dream

shaken by the light
of sun and substance
we get rejected from our havens
pulled by currents
torn back into the open
we always drift

damned to sail in circles
while refusing to adjust
to winds and waves and thunder
we drown
in our stubborn set course

but tell no man
no sailor
to still his yearning for the horizon

for even when we bear the fear
of legends of this sea
we still seek direction
in the sun
as well as the stars
of the ocean skies

KH