Cast across ocean glass, how the winged fishes wept.
Dew be a diamond crystal, of silky hair regret,
How the winged fishes dangle,
They be caught upon the net.
I have a simple deck of wood, no grass or house of grand,
No need for beach or oceans, no need for golden sand.
I am not a holy man, no bible held in hand,
But if heaven were a place,
It be on this plot of land.
With ember bud glowing, at my rebuilt side,
I have the means to reclaim, what was lost in once raging tide.
No current will pull my flame, back to the Davey Jones,
I have rebuilt my sail, and with steel rebuilt my bones.
So through this window I ponder, with my new brighter outlook,
My time is now mine, I returned that broken book.
My demons lay dying, withered upon the floor,
I won that ghastly battle,
Now watch me win the war.
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.