A ship made entirely of anchors
Anticipating a surreal storm
One I didn't know, I'd have to face
Or that I'd ever take this form
Preparations, preparations
Will they hold me in place?
What will become of me?
What will I have to face?
Holding on only to count
Down to when the surface blurs
Hoping one day I see clearly again
That it doesn't leave me with a curse.
-Al
-
Author:
Alan R (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 30th, 2026 22:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.