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Sinking
September 9, 2009
Sunk
A wood bow slices
Prestigiously through
Swirling cold waters,
Foaming white caps.
Wind speed rises
As do men's fears.
Dusk draws near.
Deck is awash,
Starts to sag
Under unbearable weight.
Bow lowers beneath
Merciless waves
Never again to rise.
Stern uplifts its face
To an inky night.
Dashing waves batter
The stern to sink.
Dawn peeks above
A calm horizon.
A gull floats in the stillness.
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JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 1 comment.
joyinritin said...
on Sep. 16 2009 at 5:15 pm
I like the drama of the short lines.
