Life is the time spent tacking in and out of an eternal headwind,
between long and wicked storms,
in a featureless infinity
of cold,
uncaring
brine.
Life is the time spent tacking in and out of an eternal headwind,
between long and wicked storms,
in a featureless infinity
of cold,
uncaring
brine.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.