(no subject)
staring out beyond the horizon
watching the sun fade,
the gulls mute,
it dawns on
dusks on me.
these sails i mend-
this mast, boom and deck
hold me captive.
panic sets in and i cant seem
to get a hold of my thoughts.
my sea legs,
as they say,
are falling for a landlover
and im trapped
trapped.
besides being surrounded by liquid
ive been drying myself out.
on purpose.
not since my trip home,
my last voyage to shore,
have i tasted a drop.
in that id like to believe
ive found clarity...
solace.
even more so,
id like to believe
that i have a purpose
beyond the sea.
but like i said,
as i said,
as i am saying
it dawns on me
it SETS on me.
plotting my course is becoming
increasingly difficult
and im afraid ive broken my
only compass.
despised and abandoned
(or did i abandon them?)
by my crew, ive found little
comfort in the gentle cradling
of the seas maternal arms.
passing on means too much to embrace
to much to falter
open sail and steer definitively
into the uncertain
or drop anchor and lower these
tired and worn sails?
this morning i found myself talking,
mentioning it, actually
to the dead crabs washed on deck
in last nights high winds:
is this my course, steady crustation?
is the sea my only hope?
do we have much fight left?
waiting on the wind,
calling back to the gulls.
give us all you got, old girl
ive fared you long enough to know
that your temper will soon calm.
watching the sun fade,
the gulls mute,
it dawns on
dusks on me.
these sails i mend-
this mast, boom and deck
hold me captive.
panic sets in and i cant seem
to get a hold of my thoughts.
my sea legs,
as they say,
are falling for a landlover
and im trapped
trapped.
besides being surrounded by liquid
ive been drying myself out.
on purpose.
not since my trip home,
my last voyage to shore,
have i tasted a drop.
in that id like to believe
ive found clarity...
solace.
even more so,
id like to believe
that i have a purpose
beyond the sea.
but like i said,
as i said,
as i am saying
it dawns on me
it SETS on me.
plotting my course is becoming
increasingly difficult
and im afraid ive broken my
only compass.
despised and abandoned
(or did i abandon them?)
by my crew, ive found little
comfort in the gentle cradling
of the seas maternal arms.
passing on means too much to embrace
to much to falter
open sail and steer definitively
into the uncertain
or drop anchor and lower these
tired and worn sails?
this morning i found myself talking,
mentioning it, actually
to the dead crabs washed on deck
in last nights high winds:
is this my course, steady crustation?
is the sea my only hope?
do we have much fight left?
waiting on the wind,
calling back to the gulls.
give us all you got, old girl
ive fared you long enough to know
that your temper will soon calm.