Ravaged feelings roiling
as my ears listen
then bleed,
the surf is boiling
in my mind
a white, fuzzy noise.
Death's torpid mask
leers from the gloom,
"Perhaps not today..."
Is all it has to say.
In the shallows
of this feinting mind,
as the world swims
in purest black,
I catch sight
of the haunted masts,
and know it was no dream.
As the aged and ancient ship
sails for the abyss,
I call the Dutchman's name.
Author notes
For Eusebius, who taught me of the fun word roil.
Let me know How this makes you feel, what do you think?
Comments
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Wonderful
A very well expressed poem. So very creative. Thank you for sharing.
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Ah, fine poem, indeed! The Dutchman liveth and saileth, and my mind is roiling, boiling and moiling!!
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