And the waves they lap the bow like gentle applause,
encouraging,
taunting,
tasting,
what failure has yet to come.
The current pushes on,
a torment.
*You laugh,
my deary,
but look below,
the sharks' fin
does not slow,
as he follows you on your dreadful path,
anticipating
it will be your last.*
And the waves they slap at the bow,
like a spanking to a naughty child.
And you grin,
you row on,
you just don't see,
The end is near.
Upon this unknown body of water.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
And the waves they lap the bow like gentle applause,
encouraging,
taunting,
tasting,
what failure has yet to come.
The current pushes on,
a torment.
*You laugh,
my deary,
but look below,
the sharks' fin
does not slow,
as he follows you on your dreadful path,
anticipating
it will be your last.*
And the waves they slap at the bow,
like a spanking to a naughty child.
And you grin,
you row on,
you just don't see,
The end is near.
Upon this unknown body of water.
For N.F.
Request permission to use this poem