Posted some years ago; presented here with cosmetic changes.
For is my heart a vessel daring sea?
Dare tempest, thunderstorm, and trident's quake?
Alack! yet mine is sheltered by no lee,
But rather shipwrecked, beached—denial's wake!
My lute, a-tuned so fervidly, doth dote
On thee; thou, crown'd for prime seraphic grace.
I strive toward thy heart despite thy moat,
Toward that thorny rose done up in lace.
And those who confidently try compare
To Beauty's host, but folly they will find.
As sure doth night aways with any glare,
In like course souls of ours will duly bind.
So onward, seaman! Love for none will wait!
Forever onward—nothing left to fate!
M.M. — October MMVI; final line revised December MMXI
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