A celestial moon alights the night sky

and we huddle at the breasts

of an altar. Already, its warm joy sinks

us into the shadows from a nation

craving for our credulity.  How we shudder, muse, and cup

our hands in reverent worship to seek comfort

in our fate. Tears replete as do waves when they bludgeon 

crooked ships. Grim frowns upturn submerged

anchors, yanking waves from the roots of the ocean

floor. A wide panic voids and persists in every heart and we shiver as

sailors lost at frost-bitten sea, sharing the same cold, muted

story: murky beginnings and elusive endings. We focus our ears

on the cheers and cries of content of society far from 

our periphery, our haven, and wonder whether that elation will ride

the waves here and crumble our resolve. I shudder. No postulance, no posturing, no 

‘a matter of fact’ would save me from my ancestors’ wrath. No. Their

souls would follow me as deadend ghosts and pirates do… endlessly.

And so I swallow my throat, tighten my fists, yet puncture my lips 

with tears longing for raw respite. To do away with the deadened, 

dark gloomy sea born from the darkest of dark nights. At night, 

my anchor slips inadvertently, as is the case for those who long; 

who cannot resist entertaining fate. In my family, not one breath

is wasted on metamorphosis, even after their cries are drowned in

chaos. No. They die in a mortuary of their own. In my  

dreams, I consider shedding myself and come clean 

to join my exalted fellows in the world of society. To ‘jump ship’

and swim the broken waters instead of toil endlessly in a broken spirit. 

Hammered by ultimatum and sacrifice, I want claw at my tongue, rip 

native words and embrace new ones because I know there will be no peace, 

no contract, no retribution for our tiresome tribulations. I want tear apart this perpetual folly

of treaty that has persisted within me, forced me to cup at the shallows for so long.

To stare at a reflection and see a pale vulture ready to eviscerate deadens the spirit and

aches the soul. It is a subtle mist that hangs above the ocean. We tear our heads away from

our reflections and grasp aimlessly in hopes of unburdening bloodline.  But NO!

We waltz and pray in an enigmatic world and will it to account, accommodate, and authenticate

us, but NO! 

                                    -----  It is futile to plead with krakens -----

So is it too much to ask for simplicity and sow shut my sacred scars?  

When will the world change for us? For me?

Is it too much to change this world, tumultuous and ravaged?

To transcend from cowering religious perpetuity to sublime devotion?

Why must our horses hiss and sputter out at sea?

Stubbornly fight for futile hopes of plea and hide under the moon?

When I could ride the waves, touch the stars, 

unhindered by the reigns of my past,

and change the world by tomorrow.