14 Lines in 20 minutes

Is it better to me the way that worsened?
With the bright-flecked flood turned dark,
Where illusory phantoms sported in a seafoam reality,
Their great manes running in silvery rivulets before a golden dawn.

I see them, unyielding eyes set, unwavering, but still fluid
For a crystal tear, a magical moment caught in mundane flesh.
They seem svelte and graceful in the rounding waves,
Flowing through their own misted dream while I remain frozen.

What freedom remains for me, when I stand rooted, chained,
Cultivated and burnished to perfection but too rough by comparison.
My heart yearns in earnest at the possibility, false or true
And the rumor of it echoes across a misted expanse, the narrow strand

The stars wheel above, the amaranthine eyes revel in the deep,
And I remain still, bathed in the motion of the rolling tide.