Diagnoses

I ride the waves of my mind's great sea

like the canoes of lost explorers

Jagged peaks in the night--illuminated like gleaming daggers

They fall to the deep wells of black water, swallowed

and spit out, toothpicks made out of mighty ships

Washed up, bled dry of supplies

on foreign lands, salt and sea drip from my shirt sleeves

I am the misled conquerer

Who takes the new

as if it were mine to hold

◄ The Observer

Herbicidal Wall Flower ►

Comments

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Jemima Jones

Wed 13th Dec 2017 16:31

love it! Thank you.Jemima.

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