Shipwreck

If not about the ruins
that linger at the surface,
what would my soul sob about?
Everybody cried their wild passions
and lost affections that rusted away
they've all lamented over tarnished love.
Everybody wrote of the meadows
surviving on sparkling streams,
on the rivers and how they burble
running over hurdles from land to land
searching for a break like me, looking for a pond
for a lake to call home and rest underneath.
You think I don't know how the waters suffer?
How meadows are carpeted amid despair?
How the changing seasons knead the fields
in a cycle of life that kills then revives pastures
their flowers and all their trees?
But everybody already cried
everybody already crafted these woes in words.
Nothing's left for me, but this ship and its history
the sunken wreck resting at the bottom of my heart.
I write of the parts that defy time and centuries
covered in salt and silt, safe inside.
I write of my mirage walks along absent shores
how my eyes draw illusions of your arrival
crossing miles of high waves and stormy seas,
waiting for your return.
Every morning I sit and ponder over the remains,
I caress each part with my sight and embrace
telling you another morning has paved its way
come on wake up from this slumber,
pull some parts together
I am tired of silence, I want to talk to you
I want to sail again.