Not yet ready for the blow
of loving and losing a soul
of yours in untethered darkness
by the stream of light pointing

Towards a distant star
marked by surrounding galaxies
way out far, from this place I sit
is not close enough to even feel lit

Unravel the tangle and the taught
ropes and chains which have me fraught
in wonder and disguise
I see behind your eyes

When waiting and looking
makes the time drag faster,
the towns and frowns on
passerby’s attempt to master

The answers and questions
to attach less meaning for the
audience is only gleaning
their truth and happy pleading

Not yet ready for the blow
I sit frozen on the bow looking
up at a sail floating still
and moving not, by any such will