Mast in Home’s View

Sing me soft sounds – soothing drowned melodies

Of children begging on their knees

(Drink another scotch at this lonely saloon)

A dream come true

   Encompassed by a

             Fairytale point of view

Elapsing into a never parting perfume

Aromas of sorts, shot blanks to end wars

Of course,

My remedies of memories

Are

(At most)

Haunted beliefs.

Avoiding the sirens, Odysseus trampled with Trojan horses,

            Getting forever better – or am I worsening?

Spirits cry out, helping hands; bounds tied,

Bodies

In a

Prayer position.

Fool for a muse

Tools put to good use

        Walk aimlessly

Point taken; and being

I have been

Staring facelessly at a hero

Who admits he could have saved me.

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