I am too far from where the rains descend.
I am divided from the cool of shore
And grey of sea.
And where the river wends is far beyond my grasp.
Oh, go before and reconcile the stars with where they end and I begin;
I am not anymore.
Until the chains release and I am free
Their magic won't mean anything to me.
postscript
For day 18. This is actually an ottava rima divided by thought rather than metered lines. It retains iambic pentameter however.