Port of Entry

What power do you think resides in me to compel a single hour upward among the ethereal harmonics of angels or to then plunge it deep into the bowels of the earth scattering time to the outer reaches of braying devils? I simply relay a dull ache that proceeded my speaking mouth and will outlast my jotting fingers. The oarsman is protected in transport for a neutral service between offending parties. He will keep his head against the guillotine. Hope is the rightful property afflicted spirits. Do not ask me to bottle it. Such an ambition is the decadent hobby of pleasant lands that grow bleeding hearts like stalks of corn. Should I sprits the orphan with a glimmer of a better tomorrow? Perhaps I will spray a fragrance of health over the stench of irreversible sickness. Whatever is gentle, kind, and merciful also may find safe passage on my vessel. I am no respecter of customer. Neither can I be accused in the day of investigation. You have never discovered a stone in the boat of my commerce. None can say that I have wetted revenge, suspicion, or grievance into a piercing sword. All that belong to the family of hostilities may travel as surely and far as those things which agree with compassion. I am a living nerve and will not be shamed into political neuropathy. I will not press those who rejoice into morning, nor will I make the somber to dance and celebrate. Each feeling will pay a fare and visit whomever they they wish. My strokes will not have made one person angrier or happier. The presumed guests of any heart must either be hosted or banish. The places from which they originate is not my business. Only drawing them to the coasts of their destinations comprise my solemn duty. The success of these messengers have never repaired a breach on my ferry or improved the finish of the wood thereof. I am free of their designs for better or ill. Leave me to myself to do the work of conveyance. I am no perfumer and I belong to no infantry.