One-winged Sailor

I’m singing over the moonbeams’ drought
like the serenade
And the touch of apathy
while I cross the oceans,
the waters I’ve cried
Traveling with no frontiers
searching the end of the world
A sailboat for nostalgia
while the tide recedes
for sunbeams’ rains
when the morning clears them all away,
these thoughts I’ve made as frail bridge
To tread myself away from you,
and but also for you
So I pray to solitude for flight
I’m a one-winged siren of sorts
and you are the zephyr beneath
Because I like to think
it’s more than a castle in the sky;
I’m flying into you

Boredom

It makes one mindful,
and ignoble to be more
ruthlessly truthful –
like that of a broken warrior,
as to the loss of fiery spirit,
and that it is to a considerable extent,
that the zest for anything is
but the loss of one’s indulgence
to the self by virtue of style,
uniqueness and unprecedented
passion for anything but unimportance
of self-discovery –
and to this one loses
the fight for substantiation.