vessel.

Count the cost, they say.

And I sit in my waiting,
yet to find a relinquishment of my own...

yet to bear witness to any forfeiture of mine
that wears its bravery proudly.

At least not in light of this.


Lonely is the vessel, in an estranged sea.
Bartering with currents,
Contending with waves...

...a campaign against wind
and odds
for the sincerity of it's proud hull.

But lonely is the vessel,
proceeding against a trained sea.
Hoping against hope to find one of its own kind.

A voice in the wilderness,
orphaned in its cause.

Count the cost, they say?

At what return...?


Lonely is the vessel,
and cost is inherent within the wound.

Deserted in the cost
of counting all else as loss..

..of calling the bluff,
and heralding an epic

that nurtures no counting at all.


And I sit in my waiting...

yet to bear witness to any forfeiture of mine

that wears its bravery proudly.

At least not in light of this.