The Petrichor Gazette

The Voyage,

​

I have embarked upon a journey 

along the road taken by the ancient whales

thousands of leagues away, yet closer 

to everything that has ever plagued my mind. 

The silence is palpable,
the pressure, just right as I am so inclined
to cast myself adrift
slumped over into a stupor
along with the beckoning waves. 

 

The Land of Plenty lies ahead. 

The rippling tides clash against its shore 

in a shocking embrace, a thousand snowfalls

curl; upwards tossed. 

Ethereal blossoms invigorated by the 

ocean dew grow beneath the frozen surface, 

unjudgemental and silent. 

There, in the deepest of depths 

where none else can tread, 

a boy weary but unworn rouses them

night and morning with his tears. 

 

I am the mechanical penguin

who huddles close incognito

among the waddle on a melting iceberg. 

They shiver and stand close for warmth, 

and yet my churning gears still tick and turn. 

Underneath the iceberg,

the seals’ streamlined bodies, 

vaguely marred by old battle scars from 

cetacean foes of days’ past, 

glide gracefully and swiftly like torpedoes 

lurk ominously in the freezing waters. 

Their sharp fangs are stained crimson

from the fish they subsist on

when yet another lucky soul escapes their wrath.