A sunny day,
A wisp of cloud.
In a vast sea,
A rowboat lay.
No where to be, nothing made sound.
Through the calm.
Cloud descends to fog,
The sun to shroud.
Waves pick up speed.
Water turns to bog.
No light to lead,
No shore to be found.
Through the shadow.
Fog turns to storm,
Wind bites with cold.
Down falls snow and hail.
Rocks, as apparitions, form
Bearing broken mast; torn sail.
Suddenly the craft was rolled.
Through the storm.
Time passes by.
The pilot wakes,
Withered and grey.
He makes a sigh.
Here he would stay,
Embraced by cold shakes.
Through the pain.
Little remained of him;
Hopeful eyes that shine,
A broken smile
Whose joy was dim.
He walked a while
In a straight line
Through the passing of time.
He walked and faded
Into the white wasteland
Of snow and ice.
This was the heart conditioned
When life was made vice
And fist was formed from hand.
Through it all, went the soul.
YOU ARE READING
Rowboat
PoetryA short poem I wrote freestyle, as opposed to the sonnets I'm so fond of. It's about the toll life takes on your soul. Open minds encouraged.
