Smokey vapor of pirate gold

From whence cut tongue never told

Though courage may have been as bold

In weathered tents of land too cold.

My soul, once white, now devil sold

When friendly hand weak with strength had pulled

Rug from beneath standing feet, and rolled

Up in the corner till again heart is cold.

Stained glass rattles on the ground

Dancing colored lights all around

For those illusionists to utter silent sound

Of littered lights and broken glass abound.

Though cracking feathers are soft when wound

Their cries are far from that silent, muttered sound

Rather they yell within the mind’s vaulted mound

Where foolish wisdom is once more crowned.

And there ‘midst the broken rocks

Where many a crow and vast the locks

All settle ‘bout the wandering waving larks

Whom sing and whistle and needst no socks.

Though ‘pon the wanderer holdst no clocks

While many holes have found their socks

In their steps upon the jagged bloody rocks

And there no man can rest ‘midst his locks.

Illusions broken, shattered glass rattling away

Upon the ground of brick laid cathedral sway

Chiming glitter of color all about walls spray

Showing each their own and separate way.

But where will go that mortal sands give way

Their own time wound short and dwindled away

With turf and surf that will at crashing wave spray