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Ivory Tower
I stand upon this pillar
battered by bitter salts
of a wayward sea mist,
the ocean down below
opens to a dark abyss,
the tumult of my soul
While the rains are
sure to stain, discolored
in a briny air,
a frightful cry, perhaps
these unseen ghosts,
souls swallowed by seaward
fowl.
Might I shudder where
I stand, the moon swallowed
by the sky above, and
before me I know that
current to be unforgiving.
Wreckages to act as
figments of myself,
so must I be the ship
a thousand times crashed
where no shore is in sight
only once-ivory altar
base.
Offerings in these forever
lost, a hallow grave
that is no grave at all,
only the ever changing
depths.
In this I am immortalized
as I am worn smooth away
and steady but surely chipped
in the constant beating
of white foamy waves.
12:35 AM - 4/11/2008 -
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