6autumn10

So thirsty am I in the midst of this vast ocean of confinement.  The sun that lights my way, shrivels my flesh and dries my eyes.  And what is there to feel?  What is there to see?  More ocean, more confinement; for my craft is as small as my vision.  Robbed and depleted my hands idle before me like soggy driftwood.  I wait, but for what? A scepter or an ore; there shall be no rule to this monarchy of aimless disarray.  In vain conquest I forge ahead, only to find the same.   Protecting my sanity from the pathless distance, my focus falls on a small ball of fiber.  Part of my long ago sail or the memory of a long ago nursery blanket, it mak