"All Good Things Must Come to an End": Poem 1 Conclusion

"...to make way for better things to happen, because the best is yet to come” wrote Geoffrey Chaucer once; and such proceeds this blog as well. As the end of the so-called "Poem 1" has arrived, it is time to tribute the full painting of poetry. I promote thee, Poem 1, as with the exemplary efforts thou hath shown, thou deserveth a formal naming: henceforth, this first poem shall be known as "Inseafar," in hopes that its seafaring inner messages and nuances shall be revealed to the probing reader insofar as they can see far into its depths.

A high-flying poem, dashing along a viridian route, yet only one way to read it all:

Inseafar
Where begins the ocean, ends the sea,
Crimson spears, sky-bound, shattering free,

A dredging darkness deems the door to undoubted doom,
Tears of ocean spray wash ashore legacies of the sunken tomb,

An outcry out-crag jutting, a suicide bomber one day to fall,
Millennium mysteries dashed with white fury, caught amidst a titanic brawl,

Breeze of Poseidon's breath, sands of titanium snow,
Tide realms rife underfoot, a continuous commuting flow,

Twin worlds: a boundless battle, twin armies: a feud of force,
Between: a frothing conflict, of strife, discord, remorse.

Reeking of gullible breeze, the sweeping scent of fishy air,
Bursting with ambient beams, flits a fulgurating flare,

Quick to the skies, a pendent pennant,
Slow till it flies, a puttering penchant,

A leaf amid a torrent, yet a torrent amid the sea,
Disguised as the skies, a melting pot-pourri,

Casual to the end, a solicitous supplication unsaid,
Crosswise the telluric bend, promises in empty stead,

Tendrils of serpent's breath from shadows surge,
Hues of vessel smoke and mirrors contrive to purge,

Before the after––look now––and nevermore,
Pendulous, the perennial ponder thereon the hindmost fore,

A reflection glimpsing prismatic voices beyond,
Past a future, a future past betraying inner bond,

Self-promise, unyielding convolution within dream,
Profuse in deliberation, word by phrase by page by ream,

Gyre of living death, back from blue to calming brown,
Sharp, passing weighty breath, drifting aloft an airy crown,

Silently heave the mighty flows,
Shifting withal flighty blows,

For where begins the ocean, ends the free,
Wherefore sanguine spears, sky-bound, a shattering sea,

Darkness dredging, door deemed undenied to sunken tomb,
Tears of ocean spray fold over footprints of undoubted doom,

A looming rainbow fraught with white fury, destiny bravers ill-fated to fall,
A nigh-gliding nirvana, dashed with obsidian doubt, yet one day to realize it all.

And there you have it. About a month's worth of line-composing, line by line. More poems to come!