A Sailor's Tale

in #undefined6 years ago

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It's my tenth day at sea
And I've seen all the things a man could see
I miss my home and my tv
I thought this job would make me free.

I counted the waves with my eyes
Just like men who look at women's thighs
I look up at the grey skies
Wondering where the sun lies.

Finally, I think of my brother
Who is deeply loved by his mother
Interrupted by deep thunder
I release a frail shudder.

I look up with such disdain
And the sky responded with cold rain
So cold, it could freeze a vein
Turning a man's mind insane.

I pull out a slightly wet piece of paper from my coat
And begin to write the horrors aboard this boat
I look at the water wondering if I'll float
It's pretty obvious that I won't.

I wrote about my heroic tale
How I lost a mighty battle against a whale
I finish the note and hope it won't fail
I am the coffin and the note is my nail.

I don't recall taking my last breath
But I do remember falling into the depth
I've done my best
Now it's time to face death.

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I liked it

It sort of created images of Moby Dick, but of course, I do not know the true images that inspired you.

Keep writing, only by doing so will you achieve your potential.

PS: I'm not comfortable with the change in tenses, can you explain it to me?

I look up with such disdain
And the sky responded with cold rain

Thanks, Arthur.

I really appreciate your feedback. I will take your advice to heart. I was inspired by an epic that I read a couple of months ago. Sadly, I don't remember what it was.

To sort your confusion, I didn't really mean a change of tenses at that part. I was kind of referring to how shunned the sailor is.

Thanks again!

It just popped into my mind. The poem that inspired me to write this is called "The Seafarer".

Sorry, haha

...
But age fares against him, his face paleth,
Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,
Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,
Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,
Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,
Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,
And though he strew the grave with gold,
His born brothers, their buried bodies
Be an unlikely treasure hoard.

By Ezra Pound

This one?

If so, glad to see ol' Ezra is not forgotten

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