When a tempest roars o’er the ocean wide,
And I drown, and die, and live, unaware,
Nor heed the storm’s unyielding tide,
As I drift on phrases, light as air.

In bread of words, I find my flight,
I lose myself in written lores,
No longer harmed by thoughts of blight,
When tremors of suspense implore.

For I do am dead, doubts do weigh,
So ponder deep what I might lose,
When in the realm of thought I stray,
And in such musings, I may choose.

Marco Delrio

Thoughts

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