03/09/2020
Mea Dea, Mea Amor
By: P.S. Brett
This is the tale of man in his boat;
So worn, so tattered, barely stayed afloat.
Late in the evening, no luck on his side,
He came into shore on the first riptide.
Starving, and conquered, his face was long,
Sunburnt and weather worn he sang his song.
Mea Dea, Mea Amor, he cried to the sky;
Mea Dea, Mea Amor, he utters goodbye.
The woman he worshiped, long gone and past;
Made breath worth breathing, the sail to his mast.
I will come to you, I will come to thee.
My time, near enough resolved, from this world I flee.
I married you once, till death do us part;
Except life is cruel, deciding I have no need for a heart.
Every night I sing, from my boat to my home;
Mea Dea, Mea Amor, I recite your poem.
He lay of a straw bed, a tear in his eye;
He blows out the candle on the stand by his side.
Half frozen and ravenous, he stands from his cot;
Wishing to god to have a clear thought.
The front of his hut, the man opens the door;
No tears left to cry, unable to take anymore.
No shoes on his feet, he goes to the ledge;
The cold nips his face, His toes kiss the edge.
The man opens his arms, and smiles wide;
Leans forward, toward nothing, as he closes his eyes.
This is the tale of the man in his boat;
So worn, so tattered, barely stayed afloat.
