My Father


He dreamed of the ocean,

He said he always would,

And when the hours turned into days

He’d be dreaming still

Of foamy seas and ash blue skies

Of travels far beyond

Of whispers heard in the night

of some forgotten song

Of days spent quietly and alone,

While all the world traversed

The wild wanderings of the soul,

He would be rehearsed

In suspension of the intellect

while magical forces took hold

To carry him to oceans

Only he had known before.

– S.K.Lindeman