He is sick.
His time has come.
Knowing this, he swims to land.
An outer world
so different from his own.
I see him coming and go to his aid.
I sit with him along the shore.
He makes little movement
and utters not a sound.
Yet his eyes, O his eyes
say a million words.
I wipe the gritty sand from his massive head
and stroke his side
with the touch of a loving mother.
O Brother Whale,
you are not alone.
I am here
in your solitary death.
He had come to a decision
while walking on the fringe;
To make a deep incision;
His body he would impinge
upon a cold steel syringe;
Pain would be undone
after a little twinge;
Then warmth of the Sun,
though his days would be done
King Certainty,
powerful, was he;
Lost his kingdom and his rule
for change had come;
Followers mourned, still loyal and true,
for what was, was all they knew;
Imagination
on big white horse,
Handsome prince was he;
To think, to see, understanding all;
“Hail, O Hail,” people cried,
“This be our new King.”
People gathered, asked of him,
“O What is to be?”
There he sat, looked about;
“INDECISION,” he cried;
“For I, King, am Understanding,
though Doubt is my bride.”
Earth,
once a place
where lovers lived,
and dreamers
searched the skies;
Now just a star
that burns
and twinkles in the night;
A lonely star,
no eyes will ever see;
No life to influence,
nor wishes
to be made upon;
The lovers,
dreamers,
forever they are gone;
Only shadows of time.
There was a woman named Marion,
she came from the land of Icarian;
Though not her time to give birth,
she no longer could withstand the girth;
So she demanded a cesarean.
O Little One,
a book untitled;
Pages blank,
yet numbered;
Without Introduction,
Preface unnecessary;
“THE END”
your only beginning;
Without binding,
though you are bound
to another World.