Birth

Why do you O my stricken heart heave and pine with sorrow
What torments seizes your thoughts
as if - none are hopes for tommorow.

Your sails set staring trembling high - through a psychic storm
An anguished night drips through the nib of a poet's pen
waves from solitude adorned.

What winds have carried you -and from which distant land
You slide between an obscure form
becoming the lines of my poetry.