Finn

On the bank of Boston harbor,

He found the friend he loved so dear,

And the lover he held so near,

Tangled in each other's arms

Flinging about their unholy Psalms.

Brimming with rage, his passion furthered,

Fire unto, one hated face,

He screamed to nights that do not trace:

“O' that vile gaze of filth—

the horrors I have seen! 

I’ll drown them all amidst a haze 

of crimson painted green."

He would leave by night,

no bounty to hinder,

his shoulders unburdened and free,

missed in no county, grieved by no mothers,

and wholly contented to flee. 

This plan set he in motion,

A boat from the dock he stole,

Sailing out into the beating wind,

Heart as dark as coal.

The wind unrelentless as it were, 

Let loose its throaty roar,

The storm it came, in torrents of rain—

By God, he would not pull ashore.

Clothing soaked in brine, and hair

Tousled to oblivion, 

By vicious gusts of air.

His boat it swayed,

Aboard he stayed,

Swearing to never give in,

But after hours of toil, howling his pain 

To the wind and the rain,

Words ripped from his throat a sin;

He sank to the floor, 

Sobbing, "that wh*re",

Succumbing to the tempest within.

His eyes they closed,

And body seemed to whisper, to the ever sounding sea:

"Take me, for what you must, this unholy plan, may it be,

Let your crashing waves filet my chest,

All I ask is—set me free."

At last, the rocking halted,

He opened a wary eye,

And saw sprawled all before him

That tender, blushing sky.

Reflected on the waves in flashes of cerise and honey, peace painted above, 

From heaven's pallet itself they stole;

Hued in forgiving clouds, the sea brought forth 

The colors of his soul.

And reaching out his upstretched hands,

no words on tongue to say,

his swelling heart held aloft within,

‘neath skies of amber grey.