Islands in the Sea
Incubus of night, nightmare worry,
favored by the moon tonight
I stride the deck
far away from home
adrift in uncertainty.
Succubus of day, demon of the noon,
tumble aft! tumble everyone!
mind your helm –
top’s’l halliards let fly!
We drive before the gale!
The treacherous archipelago
once fertile isles, haunted by ghosts
of animals extinct;
asphalt palm trees –
and mad men on the hills!
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I could have said "... mad men on the Hill."
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4 comments:
This poem puts me in mind of a haunting world bereft of God or any sign of hope. The language is chilling. But the words are perfect.
The sign of hope is I suppose, the ship they sail. There is the chance they will find better shores.
A metaphor for life and trudging through the gloomy times.
Ben
Drive us on, cap'n. It'll be all right. It'll be all right, though nothing is right.
Thank you, both.
I am having trouble dealing with mad men in our government.
Edward Everett Hale wrote "The Man Without A Country" in the midst of the Civil War to promote patriotism, depicting a man who denounces his country while on trial for treason. He is condemned to sail on Navy warships the rest of his life, never setting foot on soil again, and no one permitted to mention his native land to him.
Suppose your country left you?
Find another country. Inside, or outside.
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