Borne by his blues and trapped by my sorrow,
I watch him drown out the faith,
Fumbling with life, death, and the worlds inside of me...
The gambler is blinded by his greed,
Muted by the battle of risk and luck,
Forced to surrender to the will of the table...
As I stand above the the lemon scented waters,
The dock lowers my shadow gently into the morning,
And vanilla rain descends over distant forests...
Threads of water march boldly out of an alpine riverbed,
Caressing slick rocks as they pass down in a swift rush,
Creating a misty wind that blows out at the man beyond...
Arms arise from the murky depths,
On account of an unspoken curse,
Salvation of the fittest...
He takes to the waters under the cover of darkness,
Soon illuminated by an emaculate array of lights,
Beaming through his ghostly intentions...
I sit mesmerized by the vastness of the ocean,
Branded by the white fire of the moon,
Two old friends whose relationship I struggle to contemplate...