Sunday, October 12, 2008

my friend...

Caress the Sleep of Mortals

Bound to the Mast of Longing

Friend, tie me to the ship's mast
To ride to the rim of life.
Wounded at the ear's edge
Branded in burnt blood.

Friend, do not let me leap
From love's fierce sensual fire.
On dark horses of rising tide.
Brave breakers in beauty's risks.

Friend, if I am empty, embered.
Fill me with your wild cleansing.
Let your siren song of exile
Heal these stripes of wounded will.

-ron atkinson


gilly said...

beautiful piece
i wonder how Ron is?
is he well?

Michelle said...

Happy Birthday Ken -
I stumbled upon your blog. I am so sorry about Ron - what a beautiful poem - what a great life. You must miss him so much. But you have a most beautiful life...what a blessing.

ken said...

Thanks gilly.
Thank you Michelle. Ron is doing well, just came from his place, shared my birthday cake with him.
yes l am blessed and so lucky.