"Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink."
From The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Sometimes the longest hour approaches feverish
Trying to accumulate your lesser emotions
And the Zoroastrian struggle continues
Coming heavily upon the shoulders of your soul.
Like the old ship lost without hope, it seemed,
Navigating aloof over the unforgiven waves
My essence cried looking for its albatross
Who would rescue my own distinct existence at the end.
Perceived, or not, the reality of my own life
Rises above everything that I believe or not
To hit me in the face like a blunt wind.
So here I am, here I stand with a bracing heart.
