The tempest breaches the toppled crest,
The cargos unhinged; even the chest.
Waves pound the crippled hull,
Lulling to death man abreast.
By Travis Baezabout a month ago in Poets
Mist creeps from the sweetest hollow,
Dripping darkness that always follows.
Wading through mist avoiding graves,
Like quicksand for the soul to wallow.
I sat atop a feathered flame,
With nothing but my cooling name,
Wreathed in blazing ashes,
Cloaked in pain.
Drifting on nameless winds,