Port Of Call

Hear me
utter
woeful cries
upon a destined voyage
across the tempest sea.
My mind deformed,
sent into convulsions
on every notion it perceives.
Are facts mere fantasies?
I sanely progress
to the brink,
even to the crevice bottom of insanity.
Theories: the demon
housed within the nave of doubt,
which hangs
as a choking noose
around the fiber of existence, and
causes me to tremble.
Seek!
Journey to your port of call,
and there
every particle shall unfold.
Peace will reign,
contentment, sublime in silence.