Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hammad Oct 2020
Love is like a sailboat
when the tides are high
and rough,
in the midst of storm
We throw off the bowlines,
surrender the helm
to the winds
and choose to
adrift - into the unknown
SA Freitag Sep 2020
Sitting atop a plank,
waves crashing against the wood.
she was always told to be cautious.
Her preciseness and paranoia hath failed her.
There was nothing to see for miles.
Just water, water, water,
The deepest blue that could possibly be seen.
It was enjoyable at first.
The rumble of hunger and the pains of thirst were worth it for the view,
until it grew lonely.
She began to wonder if she would ever be seen.
Spotted by a plane, a ship, anything,
it would be better than being hopelessly alone.
bloodKl0tz Sep 2020
Instead of the joy of coming into a port and stepping onto land, land
That is familiar and loving
In love
With having my feet home again
The earth below rejoicing
After so many months at sea

I am instead adrift.  There is unbroken horizon
Spread out vast all around me
My eyes ache in my head from only seeing the sun, only seeing
The flat blue waves

I am so ANGRY that I am unloved I am so ADRIFT without my home port
I call out and the wind pretends to be an answer
All I want is to be longed for
For someone to pace
For someone to watch the sea

Instead, two separate lives, one at sea, one at home.
Dave Robertson Jul 2020
Uh
Like, you float
and welcome the buoyancy
But
a mooring now and then
would be loved
Paul Mar 2019
Over the bed a ceiling fan swings in
arrhythmic ellipses
pushing the hot air back onto a lone smoker from whose
yellowed fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning
tobacco loops, widens and merges with the unseen
everything. What she said, what he’d done everything. all of it
replaying in a faltering loop of half truths
and deliberate deceptions
The grift finally worn through, the rubber shredded
the rim of the wheel titling on its axel and
scraping ruinously
to the this room yellowed by the by post-****** or solo smoke-filled
lungfuls of salesman, hookers, preachers, cheaters, the luckless
chancers, the gamblers, the grifters, the desperate, the deluded
the lost, the plummeting, itinerants of every stripe
lighting up with and breathing out with the narrow hope
of every fresh smoke archived on the wallpaper
To which he now adds, breath by breath,
thought by thought
Hope by hope. She has gone back to the world from which they’d run
A husband, a home, the wearying balm
of acceptable comfort
and now finds himself in an aftermath,
as in the denouement
of a minor character in a hero-free
subplot. Shaken
by his new status he turns on the rumpled mattress, stubs
out his smoke and tries to think of what comes next.
Tries to corals his possibilities, there was Tom with car yard
he’s give him work
there was Lucy, who once loved him, and single now
Instead, he light up again, sees the sheets strewn about his ankles
and warms recalling  how they'd named this the cellmate’s noose,
the way they roped around his legs during
their thrashings.
it was Funny because she'd done time, for years. And it showed,
in the way she assumed her role in the act,
face to the wall,
*** up, expressionless with silent jailbreak intensity.

He inhaled, and a ring of orange fire bloomed like some brief proclamation of hope or plenty. A short, bright clarion call
of a thought that stoops as soon as it stands.
He exhaled. The open window frames a field of empty blue sky from which frayed curtains, flap and seize with sudden and passing forms, pleasurably meaningless, and under the window
in a shadowless heat outside, a dog, limp with thirst, laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
Solaces Feb 2019
Adrift...
Adrift and at peace..
Adrift toward nowhere..
Adrift toward everywhere..
Everywhere is adrift..
Nowhere meets the adrift..
Adrift in the light..
Adrift in the darkness..
I have found you adrift..
Adrift..
gone..............
Pauper of Prose Jan 2019
Ancient Seat of Versailles
Sweet shimmering palace
Place of majestic mirrors
Reflect the grand beauty you store
So that each vision
Is distorted and deformed
Yet still retains the brilliance
Of picturesque perfection
Like Capitalism unsoiled
Or Socialism Unspoiled
A duet of ideas
Promising the good life
The great life
Heaven, before it was hardened
By revolutionaries of reality
Sappho supports thy serene crown....
Brian Sep 2018
I am but a piece of wood
floating amidst the sea
I have no purpose here
no one is looking for me
I occasionally run into things
and as much as I plead
nothing seems to cling
I know not where I am going
Faded memories of where I have been
My future lies in the fog
my prayers go to the wind
I have but one guarantee
That some day I will have my dream
I will wash ashore
and call that place my home
forevermore
chris Sep 2018
they say we’re living for happiness

but what is that?

                                        / / /

things that we can’t know nor see

       we don’t hear the words adults say

as time passes we would realize
let’s be happy, let’s be happy

even if we live with these heavy in our mouths every day
Mary Frances Sep 2018
You are my forbidden fruit
- the sweetest sin
I repeatedly commit.
And I have no plans to stop
- because the heart that loves
will never go adrift.
Next page