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Array
(
[sid] => 178599
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => In a Land of No Footing
[time] => 2014-06-21 20:57:52
[hometext] => A tale of salvation in the style of Shelly or Tennyson
[bodytext] => Where have I awoken, this time (again) my eyes closed for the night? It appears to me upon deep seas judged by lunar, ghostly light; So dark, so deep alone I in my fright. Of evening past, I lay at last, eyes heavy from indulgence, wine- twelve bells to end my shameful feast of satiated climb; a fool, a cur, a wastrel, so deep (this state of sleep), quite unknown to me a dream; indeed, this salt spray upon my face most vivid pelting in this place; the wet, the sting I felt I saw I see: a dream? I dare say not a trace. This adventure new, no need to pray (as if I would, anyway); wonder reigns, fear at bay as my ears gained purchase to the ship, floated sounds to me of hard men bickering ahead in forecastle aft; harsh grating whiskered sailors hack, hammocks swaying to the deep blue dance, with flashing sparring razor knives, drawn over squabbles spawned of less import than last eve's mess, a farthing bet for life, or less. I stumble in my dreaminess, tossed to fore and back- the sea, she shines and vexes me, Taunting in my lack- I am new here in this land (watered true, as evidence demands) of wood and canvass, berm and beam, of snapping sails and mast to stars it leans- alien to all I view, a stranger I, most unseem, landed all my years, not straying once upon the sea; Galley kettles whacking, tossing to and fro, banging clanging hard to port and lee; this wood and canvass land, now I with lightest tread commenced about to poke and peek. Round poop deck crept I circumspect, Stumbling o'er and on the Captain, devil; mighty, chiselled, hard, strong- with sun-burnt, winded face of torment long; his eyes held depth, stranger to my moral creed I shared with all polite society- primordial in concept beat- untroubled he to right or wrong; glancing at me as a dish- a petri stew to stomp or eat or squish- 'tis true he knew I didn't belong; his mind keen and sharp as swords are long- “Begone, 'fore I skewer you!”, bellow made 'neath cratered South Pacific moon. “How came here I?” beseeched, weakly thus (quite unaware my body lay 'tween home and quilt...reposed in comfort's truss). With shaking head and shoulders swag, of fiery eyes he made his way... now mere' inches by my face, stance rock steady spiting ocean's sway- a demon he, red eyes flash, no mind paid he to Neptune's angry toss; life to him not worth a shilling, in glance I thus divined, heedless he to God or cross, yet firm of action in his mind. Nose a hair from mine, his hot breath scorched, granite words replied to foolish query mine, pity vacant spake he thus, “You dream, you fool, no other sort would come as such unto this hell for sport”. Words done and through, he from blouse withdrew, (my pansied query setting spark in him contempt anew) knife silvered glowing of the distant moon, long and strong, whetted sharp to skew.... in his eyes divining my demise, yeasty impulse impelling his next move- sliding 'twixt my ribs five and six, with groan of death to deck my life drew quick, blood flowed free 'twixt my fingers red, “Why?” Moaned I with gasping, wheezing breath. “You're weak, you vile wretch, most deserving of a speedy death”, replied he with unforgiving eyes, yet not in hate; impersonal, yeasty-like. In throes my end with clouding eyes, I sought and fought in screaming ache (Newly now, and selfish how!) beseeching God for me to wake. Not trusting others than myself, (true until this moment, sad) this holy supplication sought delivered me awake in bed with sweat soaked eyes- open now; a dream, a horror true, yet nonetheless a dream but aught. Fear and fear and fear so taught, now my soul, my life to God I yield; Aware, bathed in sweat and soaked, and I- once much in command, begging life in his name delivered, honoured, paid and bought, So from this dream I emerged forever changed. Yet I own and owe a debt to Captain Devil due, but said gratitude unpaid remains, (another meeting pray God not arrange!). That phantom demon, blessings be, were it not for him, God would I know. Sober now, next night I slip 'tween sheets of satin flow, smiling, filled with grace, for God has set me proper mind; I humbly now accept my place, in His presence peace so lost I now find. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 158 [topic] => 14 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DreamsandWishes )
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