Cries of the Ancient Mariner, Pt. 1
Art by Paul Rios
Alone in a dark place
The captain leans out his shattered window
And returns a painful cry to the bitter prose
Of the winter wind.
Wet blankets reminds him of the oceans chill
That he can’t tear from
Visions of a sinking ship, visions of a pathetic crew
In their final moments are burned in his eyes.
They never stop striking chords in his heart,
Composing a pounding requiem of remorse and decay
Driving him mad.
“Why was I to live?” he bled his soliloquy in the moonlight.
Pain was the only feeling that kept him alive
But the wind did not answer,
It sighed because he did not understand.
Sometimes Earth swallows life, the wind sang.
And the molten fist in the core regenerates recycles and redistributes.
The fragile heart of man inhibits his understanding.
Soaked remains and scattered pieces of a ruined life
Stolen and drug into a dark corner where the thieves gnaw insanely at their prize.
Siren wail and the red glowing eye of a ship tucked in the god.
As the breaking winter still spoke bitter prose the captain shivered in his damp spot.
Desolate and uncomforted he slept in wet blankets.
He had crying visions behind his eyes
The longer he held them in, the louder they pounded and raged.
The sea didn’t ask the names of the victims
Or permission for their lives
The waves clap and pull, never resting but always changing
The captain knew this
But now feels like a murderer
A cultor leading the weak into a trap.
The captain pounded his fist until he collapsed.
Vowing to turn the earth upside down.
Outside, the wind sighed in frustration,
The jackals laughed at his ignorance
And the falling snow tried to comfort by softly coating over with purity
All the while, the earth which they all dwelled on,
Remained silent as it rotated in the darkness of outer space.