Upon a glassy sea of sapphire,
two equal winds suspend our men.
What good is mutinous desire
when forces such as these attend?
The southern wind propels us northward;
the northern wind impels us southward.
Their equal strengths thus cancel out,
and hence we move not north nor south.
Our hopeless map is weak and futile –
our whims are simply whims, at most.
We have no say in where we go –
we’re at the mercy of such reptiles.
How cruelly vacant Titans play,
whose empty sighs control our fates!
365 Sonnets is completed! While there be no more new posts, feel free to read the sonnets and comment! :)
You can read my new poetry at Some Turbid Night: http://someturbidnight.blogspot.ca/ :)
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