I wreck my bones upon your rock-strewn headland
And tempest-tossed, my bark is broke asunder
The salt seas swallow boat and sailor both
And do you care? The storm-clouds rumble thunder
I think you laugh, to see my vain approach

You are an island, rugged, wild and wicked
No sheltered bay gives solace to my craft
And yet, I set my sails to find your heading
And send my soul, with all my hopes abaft
I wreck my bones upon your rock-strewn headland

I think you laugh to see my vain approaches
Your cliffs are steep, and jagged as a knife
The storm-tossed waves close grey and cold around me
And once again, I offer up my life
You are an island, rugged, wild and wicked

And yet, as if compelled by some addiction
I set my face once more towards the light
That from some ruined tower shines toward me
And bids me brave the waves through endless night

…

No poet I, and you no fair young maiden
Nor handsome youth, whose beauty I might praise
And all in all, this is a ghastly poem
But what the hells, it’s done and here it stays.

– W.J.A

(and, in this world,