I have no control.
The anchor slips, the heavy chains unwind,
And leave the steady, solid earth behind.
There is a mutiny beneath the skin,
Where something hollow starts to hollow in,
A frantic pulse that beats against the grain,
A ghost that claims the architecture of pain.
The breath is shallow, caught within the chest,
A bird that beats its wings in search of rest,
While every nerve, a wire pulled too tight,
Begs for the velvet closure of the night.
There is no steering now, no hand on wheel,
Just the cold surrender of the steel,
As if the marrow, tired of the fray,
Decided it simply longed to drift away.
It is a silent war, a weightless fall,
With no response to any frantic call,
Just the quiet snapping of the thread,
While life continues, though the spirit’s fled.
A vessel drifting on a lightless sea,
Waiting for the dark to set it free.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: April 11th, 2026 08:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Good write F.
Thank you
Drifting darkness and a wait for freedom, classic debacle 🕊️🙏🏻
Thank you
Welcome
Friendship, this really stays with me…that unraveling where control just slips away and you’re left drifting. And…as I see it…none of us really have control. We just think we do until something proves otherwise. Control is an illusion. Your poem's imagery carries that all the way through. Heavy, honest, and it lands. Beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you
Love it!
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