Another emotional wreck?
It’s natural to blame the rocks,
the rules of engagement, but hope
is a fuse we light on our own,
it turns adrenaline into nitroglycerine.
Siren songs and their risk-provoking lyrics
create unrealistic expectations, leave us
bobbing on surfaces, surrounded
by cargoes of roses.  Why act so surprised?
Greek myth and its harpie rock stars
predicted pain long before the electric guitar.
And to blame Fate?  A stale,  hardtack argument.
Tonight if you stand face to face with the sea,
and it seems the waves splash like pesticide,
do not mime yourself four walls and hide.
Instead take this blueprint, where the ceiling
of the harbor splinters with stars,
and the sea wrinkles like aluminum foil.
Plant a tree for the future and fix your wish
on a few sweet olives to crush
before branching off to sleep.  Fall into
the arms of a stillwater buoy.
Let the insomniac sun restore the moon.
Begin your own repairs tomorrow.