Falls the Shadow

÷•÷ 

Long,

when morning is helmsman

working his whipstaff; pushing

not down and right, this time

but down and to the left, starboard

 

Now heading to heady heavens

from winter, from loss

 

Decks below the helm, rudder strives

for helmsman’s bidding to be done

Deep in the liquid lair of cruel Oceans

only truly sleek angles may maneuver

in their own way; boldly cleaving freedom

from the watery ebb and flow

 

Short,

when midday is the mallet on Light’s chisel

carving our Demeanor and angling our Features

All faces … flat, plain unfinished billboards

sallow mysteries deprived of their suspense

until light strikes majesty, exposing every detail

 

Now heading to heady heavens

from winter, from loss

÷•÷ 

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