Gazing into
the dead of night,
I perceived a shadowy-silhouette flickering like a dying-bulb--
simulating 'last-call',
from ocean's crest.
Desiding whether this was a moment
of a fortuitous nature,
foraging for light,
I stumbled towards the withering form--
perhaps a short-lived refracted-figment,
in violation
of our Earthly-laws.
In a glutonous fashion,
the distant-darkness
seemed to swallow up this obtuce and seemingly maligned figure.
Travailing
through the rough sand,
my bare feet felt as if they were being triturated,
by my hassened approach--
lambasted even more by the pounding surf.
Analogous to a soft-spoken voice,
the intermittant wind regenerated my efforts,
through urgent tones, towards that which felt more germain--
with each step.
As this simulating,
floating carousel was slipping away,
I thought I'd heard the faint sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses--
conveyed with ignominious implications.
With the moon,
as the only guiding light,
I glimpest a fading image
of a large ship,
just before it drifted beyond my horizon.
Bypassing this moor, possibly in search
of another destination--
or perhaps none at all.

JamesHarmon McQuilkin
C 2009