Uneven handed justice strikes those unwittingly
As harsh heavy tides come crashing to shore
To sweep shallow-bathers from their feet.
Sickness could trample the best of men;
A ghostly form that, if its source be sort,
Might glide elsewhere and
Seemingly dissipate –
Only to reform.
Pity those that his merciless crooked hand does touch
For it leaves us naked as a newborn babe
Wanting only to be nurtured by sun and glory
Or swept away by nature’s tears of sorrow.
I look into my mother’s eyes
This morning softly glazed by cruel affliction
Brow raised in childlike wonder
Her face contorted
Willing only for a single rose-tinted droplet
To dissipate the gloom.
Such a fragile Pollyanna
Wrapped in off-white cloth
That, today even more so,
Matches her sallow complexion.
Her vision reminds me of a groggy sailor,
Giddy on his maiden voyage,
Staggering from sail to bower to lean raw-boned o’er board.
Casting his gaze first to search such blue horizon for land’s angled shape
And last, wearily down towards such salty depths;
A darkness reaching up to take all dampened air
From any heavy-chested fool
That dared to saddle such unbridled fury.