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Golden amber grains dance to the calm wind,
Only to stop where ocean and sand blend,
The hovering mist and faint, salty breeze,
Making lively the tranquil, gentle freeze,
Wine colored, vibrant waves glide then recede,
The ocean, a place where I can't secede.
Open-
The Skipper said "Sky's light we do not see,
Encompassed by night and adrift at sea,
I truly fear the worse will come to pass,
The return date we will greatly surpass,"
Lanterns are lit leaving a dim grim glow,
As soft rain turns into slow- ghostly- snow.
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Standing on the port of Liverpool bay,
Man in a scarlet coat and bicorne spoke,
"Swift and laboring hands for a fair pay,
Fortnight each way in this vessel of oak,"
With a quill in hand; under fiery sun,
Signed the page- unaware what I had done.
Open-
The soaked sails brought down- the ship left adrift,
Sea roaring greater- fog rises from waves,
Neptune's rage rose- sea started to shift,
Man's Life is what the water wants: craves-
Carded wool waves rushed above the ship's brim,
The crew's morale started to grow slim.
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Came to my wife and son with the good new,
About fortunes that will come to us soon,
They told me to not go: to take their view,
Wanting to see me every falling noon,
My son's teary eyes are red from weeping,
Despite their words, I left at night's sleeping.
Open-
The frosty wind tears through the chilled trenched clothes,
As the bitter snow begins to pick up,
Regretting the signing of parchment oaths,
From hissing brine within the ocean's cup,
Skipper, frozen; fastened on bended knee,
Pale and with glassy eyes, a corpse is he.
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I arrived at the port during midday,
Met the captain, his hair was silky gray,
"Report to your station," he sternly spoke,
When we left we were covered by night's cloak,
The crew drank and freely sang sailing songs,
Lit by lamps, that night, to us, it belongs.
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A water-wall rose off the starboard side,
Swallows the ship- forming a rapid tide,
Was ripped off from the man-made oaken-land,
Fathoms I sank- under the sea's command,
Higher my soul rises- deeper I sink,
A watery grave, I am, at the brink.
Close.
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Author:
Asher (
Offline)
- Published: February 14th, 2023 22:47
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this poem when I was a senior in High School. At that point in time, I was reflecting on my pass. Quite frankly high school was a horrid time for me. I am just happy that version of me is dead now. None of this has to do with the meaning behind the poem. I want it to be up to your interpretation.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 17
Comments1
You may want it to be up to my interpretation - I want you to state unambiguously your message or I'm not listening.
Now, I hope you enjoy your stay at MPS. It is an interactive site so I hope you will read other's poems ,comment and be prepared to respond to anyone who has taken the trouble to read and comment on yours.
Hey, sorry for responding almost a month late... Life has kinda been kicking me in the butt... What this poem means to me is the changing of time and the consequences of choices. There are things that you want to do in life that unbeknownst to you leads you to stormy weather. It is when you are in that storm when you realize how good your life was leading up to that moment.
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