Poezja

I fear the fires, flaring, flaming, grazing 
at the gates of unbroken ember glaring.
The wisp of wind, whipping and wailing, 
but to what ends I mend thee? 
To what bends thee? 
Be it wether steel or jubilee? 
A tied down heart
or one that's free
I took a ship from a harbor that once was ye.
Long gone, 
the song, 
that was once
you and me.