Melancholy settles in around the shoulders
Like a blanket for the eyes, the light of the soul swathed in gray
Shadows and apparitious drapery between candle and holder
Puff and blow and handwave as you will; the fog (of war with fog) remains
That world is fixed, unmoving, ceaseless and secure
But here all is drifting, cast loose upon the sea of restlessness
The anchor line is taut and still the iron weight drifts and drags
No purchase on solidity, only the cost of another current dragging at the hull
Creaking permeates the inner eaves of the mind
Like timbers in the wind as the keel rocks in low grumbling waves
Weak strength against the mighty depths of a soul
Strain away and struggle all you like; the water will not bend to any will save one
Those stars are hard white crystals, far away and bright
But invisible here below, blocked by shrouds of sorrow, fear, and wonder
The sextant sits useless and the mind lists to starboard
No aim or heading, only a steady, needless drift away from heaven's needles
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