Every day he grabs his rod, crafts his hooks,
Gets into a boat and pushes off from the shore,
Looking to slice open the fish caught in his traps,
And hoping the day will bring in some more.
Sometimes he'll go out into sea to wreak havoc
On those idiot fish which dare to poison his friends,
And despite their insistence to stay underneath,
He'll keep hanging on in the battle until it all ends.
With his hooks in their flesh and their resistance
A large enough irritation to keep rocking his boat,
Both sides remain sure in their struggle, fighting
So long that it's a wonder they can still float.
Eventually it gets ridiculous, so over the top.
Oh, bomb a fishery for all that we care.
Just sink lower and lower into maddened
Depravity until both our purposes are threadbare.
But we all need purpose, no matter how meaningless,
So we all look naturally towards the ease of hate,
It makes our existence worthwhile, because we all know
Fish gotta swim, and baiters gotta bait.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Corner
PoetryThis is a collection of poems that I have written that range from light and bubbly, to highly disturbing. Please vote if you like them and comment if you have any questions, although I may refrain from answering.
