Will you read my poem (Mar. Islands), maybe?

[Marianne islands]

Thesis attained, a transient absurd message
our cargo vessel on his supercilious drainage
of our souls, decided to betray our, of thirty, crew
so started sinking, stubbornly in a black-blue hue.

It was his will, I think. A nautilus enlisted man,
we routed on Pacific, from Magellan’s straights
support a hyperbolic course, reaching Marianne
islands, South of Japan, where deepest depths,

of close 12000 meters, the sonar links, vertical
in how long a damaged steadfast that shudders
reaches the bottom of an outsmarted end logical
of our new invited souls, due to an inert rudder?

Our cause is somewhere lost, a propagation
of a despaired instant, grievance’s emission
so, our prayers are directed towards a cold
of no remorse depth of darkened souls mold.

Maybe if I travel above the cumuli, I ‘ll manage
to be a groom in an adorned, dreaming feast
or beguiled by a buffoon spirit’s caused trauma,
as all misty horizons of our purposes’ chasma.

I sent my prayer way up this fog’s continuity
to maybe encounter a dim guardian star light
and there (maybe) will find your message trite
an antidote to my nautilus cold grave ambiguity.

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