Captain of soul

She takes you on board
Your journey
Undetermined
Ocean breezes blow
Against your temple
As you relax for the cruise.
She takes you through worlds
You’ve dreamt about
Since childhood,
She knows your secrets,
She knows your heart
As she is one
In your soul,
She is in us
Guiding us
Through the turbulence
And rough waters,
She takes your hand
And you slip into a thought
You had forgotten
Long ago,
You remember who you once were
And you surface to once more
Become who you were meant to be,
She is your captain
And she is setting sail.
Step aboard
The ride of your destiny.

Bonehenge (NaPoWriMo day eight)

BoneHenge
thou dirtiest bone of doggy isle!
whether by butchers hand, from a scythe or sword,
To marrow now gone, and empty bore,
Huge stack of discarded leg, the mighty pile
By cattle slain by society’s need:
Of BBQ masters sprinkled with tomato-vinegar paste,
Of everyday chefs whose steaks outshine ,
The gluttonous dogs whose stomachs full
The remnants a shrine,
But to those that trip upon,
Time to discard or bury in ground,
This magic pile to a rich mans hounds
We muse on the cost,
But not quite renown’d
Goodbye old bones
Our bonehenge once visited
Nothing noble on the carpet
To mark the presence.

And now for today’s (optional, as always!) prompt. Today, let’s rewrite a famous poem, giving it our own spin.
I don’t know how famous this poem is but fit the pic I wanted to use. My variation on a theme of greatness by a not so great spin artist.
poem chosen below, my spin above.

Written at Stonehenge by Thomas Warton

Thou noblest monument of Albion’s isle!
Whether by Merlin’s aid, from Scythia’s shore,
To Amber’s fatal plain Pendragon bore,
Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty pile
T’ entomb his Britons slain by Hengist’s guile:
Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore,
Taught ‘mid thy massy maze their mystic lore:
Or Danish chiefs, enrich’d with savage spoil,
To Victory’s idol vast, an unhewn shrine,
Rear’d the rude heap: or, in thy hallow’d round,
Repose the kings of Brutus’ genuine line;
Or here those kings in solemn state were crown’d:
Studious to trace thy wondrous origine,
We muse on many an ancient tale renown’d.

Thoughts like change

Pennies tossed
To depths below
Wishing for futures unseen,
Thoughts shiny like nickels
Adding my cents to the
Bottomless well
I think there may be snakes
Swimming in the depths
Stealing the thoughts
The dreams
The change of seasons
The water undulates as I peer in
How many dreams perished
Unheard
I throw a quarter
To improve the odds
Of a wish for truth
For peace
The universe hears
Plink goes the coin off the side
Leaving ripples
Unseen in the darkness
But I know it has been registered
By the keeper
Of coin.