The Pilgrim Soul

The Pilgrim Soul

Now that I am old and grey, the book is still in my hands.
My parchment hands, on which words were placed,
Joined up by lines, and then by time erased.
Yet the words on the skin and the page I still understand.

I am old and grey, a burnished filigree pendant,
Though sleep has not yet had its lazy way with me.
Rather, by the fire I prepare for voyages to sea.
The pilgrim remains, but a dreamy pirate is in ascendant.

Time does not soften as you once suggested it might.
If love has gone then my antique ship will sail and recover,
With a sword between my teeth, my distant island lover.
I find him again when I sail my ship by stars at night.