Windless upon a once vast Sargasso of an infinite imagination.
The horizon seems to shink with an encroaching storm whose angst-ridden mutinous murmurs of thoughts and notions seem undeserving of the words to place them upon this world.
Within my hold, a once precious cargo turns worthless, rotting into a meaningless black mass beneath the planks of an imovable deck now buckling beneath the blistering, dessicating sun.
No waves or wind to push.
Not a beat of a breath to catch the sails and nudge this battered boat closer to the harbor of its home.
Simply stuck in a mere tangle of weeds and time.