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Michael McGuire
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Port Misery
The horizon is gathering omens and unshed tears,
In the sky that breeds its rain with lives and years, I stand in shadows of shelters trying to re-chart this dream,
But the sleepless sea is just an agent of the unnamed stream.
And that ship that just cleared the harbor,
Off to some new world or some ancient star,
Its destination is a requiem for me,
For my stop and stay here in Port Misery.
The telling of all thoughts abide the hearing of mortal reason,
Every wish its moon; every man his season,
My life my own fault; my own stupid creature,
And the soul's radio where there should be the song of god we just get a preacher.
So these shipments of goods and God's own labors,
Sail for foreign ports to enrich the living there, And I'm left here with this sump of the sea,
My date and doom in Port Misery.
The untold mercies of the sea wait for ship and sailor,
Be it the sea beds sleep or the port of call's sex, But the land locked Captain can beg no mercy from this dirt,
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Only the rain fed harvest can he reap.
And these goings that leave scattered the seeds of these makings,
Are worlds left with undocumented dreams and wakings,
Suns that spin onto a new axis to create the milk of light,
Suffering sleepers anchored to the bulk of endless night,
So the lien-holders of grief collect their Earthly revenue,
Be the mines of Heaven stripped for this debtor's due,
And all of tomorrow's yesterdays will make an endless work of sorrow,
For the river has no excess of wealth the sea doesn't borrow.
And so these ships sacrificed unto the seas endless hunger,
Set sail to the unmade lands of life,
While I try to outlive this death in me,
Right here in the tear-swung tides of Port Misery.
When will this hateful sea,
Send my ship back for me.
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