Halls of the Dark Muse

Ivory Tower

I stand upon this pillar
battered by bitter salts
of a wayward sea mist,
the ocean down below
opens to a dark abyss,
the tumult of my soul

While the rains are
sure to stain, discolored
in a briny air,
a frightful cry, perhaps
these unseen ghosts,
souls swallowed by seaward
fowl.

Might I shudder where
I stand, the moon swallowed
by the sky above, and
before me I know that
current to be unforgiving.

Wreckages to act as
figments of myself,
so must I be the ship
a thousand times crashed
where no shore is in sight
only once-ivory altar
base.

Offerings in these forever
lost, a hallow grave
that is no grave at all,
only the ever changing
depths.

In this I am immortalized
as I am worn smooth away
and steady but surely chipped
in the constant beating
of white foamy waves.