Lands Beyond the Toil

We float across water’s surface,
Like flitting bugs through water lace . . .
Splendid creatures meander or race,
An extension of ourselves within this floating case.

All things derived from the power oceanic . . .
Through channels we coast amongst the magic,
Leaving the mundane so lost and tragic,
We merge with this world so grand and pelagic.

Such crystalline beauty of myriad islands . . .
Streamlined Orcas swimming past me in bands,
Paddles glance the water’s surface in clutched hands,
Seaweed, drifting in ocean currents, flow in strands.

I hear resonating voices of numerous fairies . . .
As I glide across the channeled seas,
I sense joyful spirits amongst green trees,
These pleasant days, my troubled soul I appease.

Of pleasant nights and subtle felicity I had my taste,
And at night on cold rising waters, I was so graced,
With the spirit of the moon amid souls strangely spaced,
So full and beautiful, through calm waters we laced.

Lightly with my fingers, the water I stir . . .
In the night the water glows as if to purr,
The world around me becomes such a blur . . .
For a while I remain in the world I prefer.

But soon, to soon I must finally retire . . .
Too the lands scorched by unnatural fire.
Lands scared and tattooed of which I tire . . .
Where I hear songs of Decadence’s Choir.

But . . . one day someday soon . . . I will return to those magic lands where I found my rested soul . . .