The stars are hoisted <br />Upon the picturesque azure <br />And they twine <br />To craft constellations <br />That I’ve no claim <br />Over monikers <br />Or sobriquets. <br /> <br />They speak to me <br />One by one: <br />A vague scintillation, <br />A language that is obscure. <br />This night is sculpted <br />Into a day despite the furlough <br />Of the kingly Sun. <br /> <br />The sea – I’ve zilch care. <br />The zephyr blows, <br />And asks me an inquiry <br />Of make-believe <br />A fictional travail - <br />A superlative travesty. <br /> <br />Do you believe in <br />Fables, young seafarer? <br />The night’s hysteria <br />Is latticed to my being. <br />And as a salutation, <br />I nodded as the stars <br />Are extinguished <br />One by one. <br /> <br />In this expanse, <br />From the far-fetched gardens, <br />I can hear a siren <br />Singing her allure: <br />A splendid symphony, <br />An unchained wail. <br />An arbitrary opus. <br /> <br />I am swoon over <br />As the sea is muted <br />And the waves <br />Are sent to abeyance.<br /><br />Windsor Guadalupe Jr<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-seafarer-s-diary-berceuse-6/
