An Eternal Flame

Who is the deepest man on the ship metaphorically?

Measure me the good days we had,
taking the extra time to sort out the bad.
Fleeting moments of his greatness fade.
He is our eternal flame.

Hearts of gold take center-stage.
The seasons tally a mute youth in rage.
So often, the grand design lifts up to the sky,
as we see the peaceful joy of a pacificist's cry.

The truth be told he invigorates the senses
and extends a hand toward futurama.
Never has he clamoured more in the wake of ghosts
without moral support for his sweeping speeches.

Prison is our past. Loneliness mixes
with the silence and the quietude amplifies fixes.
I roll my eye into the gathering of those
settling in the mist with honor and trust.