S.O.S.

Oh! Save our ships!
Lord! Save our souls!
The steeple of my morals
has crumbled to the ground.

And I'm lying in the rubble
of a dented conventional tower
Oh feeble flaw! Oh grand mistake!
With what superficial belief did I try to make
this fallacy my home...?

The wolves on the white beaches
scatter my thoughts in a rompous run
with a chaos of grained sand, a lost land
of restless hearts I yearn to find.

Pride on horseback, oh rampant vagabond
Desperado, garbed in coward's clothes, a lion's heart.
Quenching eyes that look both pleading,
and threateningly at a dry world.

The scientist would say
my neurons are spiraling into bedlam
Or would that be poet?
For the realist gives me no solace.

Aye me, madness is mine for the keeping.