La Tempête des Vœux Brisés

Amid the raging ire of heaving sea,
Where waves did clash like furies in a dance,
He marched, a soul bereaved of destiny,
Recalling love—a spectre’s wistful trance.

In days of youth, when hope adorned his eyes,
A fair, elusive grace had graced his life;
Their hearts entwined beneath the azure skies,
Yet fate decreed a love of bitter strife.
They swore an oath of constancy and flame,
An eternal pledge beneath the starry dome—
No force could rend their bond, nor mar their claim,
A promise wrought to conquer time and gloam.

But cruel the hand of circumstance can be,
As winds unforeseen did tempests unleash;
The beloved lost to distant memory,
Her voice now drowned within the storm’s caprice.
For in the throes of passion’s fervent plea,
A truth emerged with sorrowful refrain:
Her soul no longer bound to him, set free,
A bond dissolved like tears that dress the rain.

Thus now he sailed upon the furious main,
A wanderer bereft, condemned to roam,
His spirit chained by ever-haunting pain,
Each crest and trough a dirge of shattered home.
The sea, a mirror to his inner dread,
In waves that rumbled with profound despair,
Revealed the ghost of every word unsaid,
And every vow now severed by the air.

Oft in the silent gloom of starless night,
When squalls and murmurings confound the skies,
He’d hear her voice in whispers born of light,
A siren song that in his bosom lies.
“Remember, dear, the promise that we made,
When hearts were young and future yet unknown;”
Her echo, though, was but a fleeting shade,
A memory in wind’s capricious moan.

So on he sailed, the beaten, lone outcast,
A soul whose ardour fate had torn apart;
Each rolling wave recited songs of past
When destiny had not subdued his heart.
The ocean, wild and savage in its art,
Conspired with night to lull him in its snare,
To bind him evermore, in grief’s cold part,
And claim his hope like treasures lost in air.

He roved the straits where tempests fiercely bled,
And in each gale, a mirror to his plight,
For every surge recalled the vows once said,
Now drowned in sorrow’s ever-waning light.
“Thou art my beacon,” once his fervent cry,
A promise etched upon the vault of skies;
Yet silence now replied with mournful sigh,
As destiny arranged her cruel goodbyes.

One somber eve, beneath the bruised twilight,
When nature’s wrath reached pinnacles unknown,
The Traveller beheld a distant light,
A flicker ‘mid the tempest’s darkened moan.
A lighthouse, solitary in its stance,
Erect against the fury of the gale,
Its beam a clarion of one last chance
To steer his vessel far from sorrow’s veil.

He steered with trembling hand and steadfast soul,
Believing in a hope that might restore
The echoes of the pledge that made him whole,
To mend the broken vestige of yore.
Yet as his craft approached the guiding flame,
A hulking swell rose high to thwart his course;
The sea, unyielding, knew not pity’s name,
And roared with wrath, expressive in its force.

“Farewell!” he cried into the raging night,
His voice, though frail, resounded ‘gainst the roar;
For in that moment, bathed in sorrow’s light,
He faced the truth that he must suffer more.
The mast did crack beneath the tempest’s scorn,
And timbers splintered like his fractured dreams;
The breach wrought chaos, hope forlorn,
As fate disintegrated all redeeming themes.

In that dark hour, his mind did cast away
The tender illusions of a bygone tie,
For hearts, once pledged, may never meet the day
When destiny, asunder, bids them die.
Yet as his craft was doomed to sink and drown,
He still recalled the vows of love divine,
Now turned to ashes as his hopes did frown,
A legacy of joy now so malign.

The ocean’s wrath did bear his grief aloft,
In swirling eddies spun of pain and rue;
Each crashing wave seemed to intone so soft,
A lament for promises that never grew.
“Remember me,” he whispered to the night,
A prayer, a curse, a tear upon the sea;
“Recall our oath once bathed in gentle light,
Now lost to tempest’s waltz and destiny.”

The furious sea, a canvas dark and wide,
Reflected all the sorrow in his breast;
No mortal art could ever hope to hide
The truth that in his heart had found no rest.
For love, though once a beacon bright and fair,
Had succumbed to fate’s relentless reclaim;
A tale of beauty marred by cruel despair,
Left solely grief to echo nature’s name.

And as the waves, in fierce crescendo, roared,
The Traveller, embraced by watery night,
Had reached the end of every dream implored,
A final scene in nature’s grandest fright.
His vessel shattered ‘gainst the jagged cliffs,
His lonely soul dispersed amidst the foam;
The pledge that once had granted him its gifts
Now sealed his fate, no longer bound to home.

In distant memory, on wind-blown crest,
The visage of his love in fleeting glow
Would haunt the breaking waves upon their quest,
A phantom in the lunar’s silver show.
For even as he sank in bitter rue,
Her voice remained—a whispered, endless rue;
A spectral hymn of promises untrue,
That fate, in cruelty, had forced anew.

Thus ends the tale of a forlorn desire,
Of vows besmirched by winds that time imparts;
A testament to love that burned like fire,
Yet met its fate within the storms of hearts.
Let every soul that wanders ‘neath the sky
Recall the tragic strains of love’s lament,
For even promises, when fate runs high,
May falter in the maelstrom of what’s meant.

O destiny! Thou art a fickle guide,
Imbuing mortal hearts with hope and pain;
From perks of love, no mortal can deride,
Yet lose the light that promises remain.
The solitary Traveller, lost at sea,
Bequeaths his story to the mournful wind;
A chronicle of love’s sanctity
That fate, with cruel irony, did rescind.

Now in the quiet silence of the deep,
Where regal tides in endless sorrow flow,
His spirit lingers, evermore to weep,
For bonds that time and tempests did overthrow.
Midst ruins of devotion, torn asunder,
The ocean cradles every teardrop shed;
An elegy—a sorrowful wonder—
A tale of hearts forever left for dead.

In every crest, in every mournful wave,
A memory of love is softly told;
Of promises, eternal yet so grave,
And passions doomed before their fate could hold.
Thus, let us mark this elegiac lore,
A dirge that time itself shall ne’er outlast;
For in the throes of tempest’s wild uproar,
We learn that all our vows are bound to pass.

So echoes still the tale upon the brine,
Of one who vowed his heart to love’s decree;
Yet met the ocean’s wrath—a sign divine—
That passion, though immortal, must break free.
And in that tragic fall through swirling night,
His oath, once sacred, met an awful end;
A whispered lesson to the stars in flight—
That love, though sweet, may never fully mend.

Now rest, dear soul, in twilight’s cold embrace,
Your journey ended ‘neath the storm’s command;
For even stars must fade without a trace,
And dreams give way to fate’s relentless hand.
The sea, in endless grief, will ever mourn
The echo of your pledge now lost to time;
A requiem of promises forlorn,
A love forbidden, doomed in endless rhyme.

Thus let our hearts, in sorrowful accord,
Recall that every vow may someday break;
Yet cherish still the love that we adored,
Though destiny its tender bonds may shake.
In memory and myth its strains remain,
An elegy inscribed on nature’s shore;
A bittersweet refrain of hope and pain,
A tragic song to haunt forevermore.