Cast my future stars as void of course;
reduce to ash these ragged charts and maps,
and let the sails take from the restless wind
what strength they will. I will not feign I care
to know what line the sextant sight-glass proves,
nor where the ruling planets may align.
Let destiny release my wearied soul,
and through my worn and cambered heart, let flow
the cooler blood that marks a passion’s end;
give to the angels of our nature’s best
their just reward: from danger a respite,
and soft Elysian breeze to fan their wings.
Plot down no points, but wander free instead,
where the whole sea awaits; its fleeting touch
rests not upon a single shoreline’s crest,
but skips carefree between each distant beach.
Give unto me naught but my decommission;
I care for no more of your revolution.
25 AUG 2005
Set my stars as void of course, recast in iambic pentameter
