the fortress

on

The courtesy flag flutters in the wind.
Unchartered waters, indeed.
Fair is foul, but foul is less fair
than predicted.

A cannonball rips
through the fragile cloth, leaves
a gaping hole to match its own
secretly hollow nucleus.

Set on my course
and with no other option.
Relentlessly I steer
head to wind
rock and roll there
hoping it will change.

A dark and gloomy fortress
towers over me,
perched perilously
but deliberately on the edge
of a cliff.

It is a long way down
from the edge to
the turbulent water
but far further
from the deck to the ocean floor
once the bricks of the fortress
stone me.

The fortress walls are
endlessly scrubbed and washed,
to no avail.

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