This hunger always takes me unaware,
pulling me along on reluctant feet.
The wind tangles her fingers in my hair
as I head out to sea.
I conquer navies though I command no fleet,
my strange artilleries comprised of simple air.
Still, your lover prays we might never meet.
If some lonely night, you see me there?
If you're entranced by music sweet?
Shut up your ears, whatever else you dare,
as I head out to sea.
This week's format is the roundel, and mine was inspired (very loosely) by low-country ghosts like the Gray Man of Pawleys Island, SC. Of course, sirens figure largely in my world, as well...
The lovely runaway sentence. is also participating, even graciously allowing me a few extra days to get my nonsense in order. You can read her roundel here. Next week we'll be tackling the quatern. A quatern is another multi-quatrain French form, but to my relief? No rhyming required. Stay tuned.
