Tranquil touch, first of morning,
Free of mooring, almost soaring,
The mystery ship makes sail—
As mythic mariner gives consent
Somewhere betwixt past 'n present,
Distant of storms' wretched gale.
Itinerary vague, near destitute,
Bearing little fruit, can't refute,
No clue what lies in store,
Not clear what to expect;
All outcomes weigh suspect
On voyage leagues from shore.
On deck beneath the varied blue,
Serving crew ‘n privileged few,
Salty spray brings scant therapy
High above the whitecap waves
And the many watery graves,
As vessel ventures the open sea.
Fathoms deep, events capitulate,
Plotting to regulate, to subjugate,
Controlling lives behind the scene;
Trials added to complicate life
As issues of love induce strife—
The winds of fate prey unseen.
O'er ocean vast, far from started
Months departed, course uncharted,
Windward toward dawns unknown;
Horizon's edge illusive, undefined
As all on board become resigned
To embrace uncertainty—alone.
Waves crest 'n roll, ‘tis the goal,
Skillful maneuvers to "play" the soul,
Aiding Pandora's plan for humanity
Waged to weaken the status quo—
Lives broken, left adrift in sorrow,
‘Waiting the cleansing of mortality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem