Shipwrecked
I am a wreck.
And it's such a dismal situation,
To be out at sea with no horizon.
Then I'm splintered by the waves
On rocks sharper than the words
Which sting the sores like the salt in the sea.
A sunken ship, scattered in solitude.
Washed up on some stark shore
Where the surf slaps small stones.
Sentenced to the sonance of the sea.
Disappearing into singing sands.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the poem
Dancing Fish. This chapter
was posted on Feb 28, 2010 by
SackDisMinion.
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