Understanding, I thought I'd found,
A brand new day had come around.
I'd felt a friend, a champion, a lover
a shelter against storms of life was she,
But "NO," she screamed, 'tis not to be!"
Because of someone in HER history.
With vile pronouns in hand she stabbed at me,
and rent my heart for all to see.
But blinded by romance so new,
I'd opened up my heart to you,
and set again my heart to song.
From ramparts where I'd lived so long I came down,
Now I feel just like a clown.
I'm weary with being misunderstood,
will people never say I'm good?
They never seem to take the time,
to understand this soul of mine.
And now I've run back to the sea,
my boat won't make a fool of me.
For she is truly my my shelter from the storm,
and to my heart will cause no harm.
For imagined sins I will atone,
upon my boat, at sea, alone.
My boat is just a little canoe, and my sea is one of God's tranquil little lakes. Does that mean I can atone for my little sins, only? Or might it symbolize I only sin a little? And I might go for that so long as when I sin just a little the sins are big enough to be worthwhile and catch Satan's eye. But, of course, Satan is the one who enticed me to sin in the first place, isn't he? Or is that my birthright like being a congenital liar?
I love my little red canoe. It never makes "a fool of me." Paddling in it is like cruisin' down main street to admiring glances.
I'll read your poem one more time, Walt. With that I'm sure to get a clearer understanding.
And, O, Walt, I'm a people, and I'll say it: You're good!
Richard
Reviewed by LadyJtalks LadyJzTalkZone (Reader)
Reviewed on May 13, 2007
You are very fortunate to have this place of peace in your life. Welcome back to your den and we look forward to reading you work. good write and honest of you. Lady J
Well as an old sailor who only in the last few days of his career learned the beuty and the solitude of wind in the canvas or I guess nylon these days I can truly emphazize with this write.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
Share
Print
Save
Follow
My boat is just a little canoe, and my sea is one of God's tranquil little lakes. Does that mean I can atone for my little sins, only? Or might it symbolize I only sin a little? And I might go for that so long as when I sin just a little the sins are big enough to be worthwhile and catch Satan's eye. But, of course, Satan is the one who enticed me to sin in the first place, isn't he? Or is that my birthright like being a congenital liar?
I love my little red canoe. It never makes "a fool of me." Paddling in it is like cruisin' down main street to admiring glances.
I'll read your poem one more time, Walt. With that I'm sure to get a clearer understanding.
And, O, Walt, I'm a people, and I'll say it: You're good!
Richard
Regis
Be safe,
Karen
love Tinka
Fee
Welcome back from your sailing trip! I'm glad to be reading you again. A heartfelt write, Walt. Stay strong, my friend.
Many blessings,
~Linda