not last, nor least
“To the Siren” by Walter W. Quinn III
The ship has come from isle to isle,
With one who departs, who leaves, who’s gone,
Another day, another story, another file,
All alone after every dusk, every dawn.
How can you be gone if you stand in front of me?
The air is so dark, and the water is choking it.
I’ve never felt something as dark as this sea
As it fills my lungs, my eyes unlit.
There you were, swimming beside me for so long,
Until one day, you floated away.
It’s not that I thought you were, but could you be wrong?
I’m so gone, so cold, and I don’t want to stay.
My body’s empty now, a hollow husk,
And my fingers brush your cheeks, so strong.
But then it is I who floats away, the musk
From me, this dying, the ocean’s song.
Your scent remains with me, floating in the air,
Your image a sailor’s dream, some ghostly maiden fair,
And now I must travel where the living do not dare,
For now I am in a sea of pain, of love, of lust, despair.
~ ~ ~
“Phoenix’s Tears” by Walter W. Quinn III
From what came life,
if not from
nothing?
But is nothing worth
life?
Fire burns, and ash it turns,
but still these things
be.
The wind may blow
those ashes away
yet
A part of them will
forever remain.
Only to be discovered
and cried over
once more.
The ship has come from isle to isle,
With one who departs, who leaves, who’s gone,
Another day, another story, another file,
All alone after every dusk, every dawn.
How can you be gone if you stand in front of me?
The air is so dark, and the water is choking it.
I’ve never felt something as dark as this sea
As it fills my lungs, my eyes unlit.
There you were, swimming beside me for so long,
Until one day, you floated away.
It’s not that I thought you were, but could you be wrong?
I’m so gone, so cold, and I don’t want to stay.
My body’s empty now, a hollow husk,
And my fingers brush your cheeks, so strong.
But then it is I who floats away, the musk
From me, this dying, the ocean’s song.
Your scent remains with me, floating in the air,
Your image a sailor’s dream, some ghostly maiden fair,
And now I must travel where the living do not dare,
For now I am in a sea of pain, of love, of lust, despair.
~ ~ ~
“Phoenix’s Tears” by Walter W. Quinn III
From what came life,
if not from
nothing?
But is nothing worth
life?
Fire burns, and ash it turns,
but still these things
be.
The wind may blow
those ashes away
yet
A part of them will
forever remain.
Only to be discovered
and cried over
once more.