Progression

pound by pound
upon a vessel so young and fragile
cold and unsound
Oh that once full of laughter has now become hostile;

toiling and loitering,
loitering at the margin of some outlandish cliff
while memories-laden eerie fickle mind in haunting
like an unforgettable driving tune of a doom'd artist's methodically woven riff

but only after so many moons of trial
acquainted has become the young fisherman
with the turbulent sea
as 'tis the sea's culture he now breathes

be it a clean azure sky
or a heavy cloudy one
little is the difference when the haven is nigh
as 'tis the instinct that drives the hungry lion to his wants

for --
to earn is to labor
and to learn is to suffer
and to be fully adorned -- long may take the procession
the prophet is cloth'd in tears & visions