All have stories, few ever tell,
journeys ventured and desires to quell.
Desires quenched and misgivings had,
good tales abound, few ever bad.
Temperatures rise and emotions swell,
tightly bound the poet does dwell.
Here words cascade to drown the sad,
ink flows freely I think I’m glad.
For if to spiral back into my hollow shell,
where the sea’s only heard is my living hell.
There verses echo of another passing fad,
when only time notes the page we add.