The sailing ship

The world is bruised
with wars, actions, words;
divides of numerous
frozen, hidden icebergs
devastate the ark with
dents and scars, they 
destroy the moving universe.

I wonder if I could ever
alter our affectionate nest,
without putting to rest
my own ruminations
that ruin my inner being
with poisonous pests! 

To resurrect, I have only me
to correct; if I could take
a close look at the brainwork
that crack or break me
every single day, like an
automated monster placed
at the unsuspecting altar,
killing without a brake
the living heart of the self 
craving for position, pelf,
power, I could perhaps address
the meaningless hindrances,
they could perchance melt,
wither, or get blurred in the
warm, forgiving, enamored
light of endless exuberance.

Unkind words that murdered,
butchered my pure being
more than anything, anyone else,
will leave my system; the world
around will be bestowed with
the chirps of birds singing
on branches of the same root;
calming words, like flowers and fruits
will adorn my garden, comfort
the ears of the listeners as those
chants in the places of worship;
let me prepare my world first
heal the holes, blisters, and the marks
of my only living, loving, sailing ship.