Some people still don't understand the power of the internet
nor the consequences of social media
they're incredulous when society reacts negatively to someone
if it's someone they like, that is
then that incredulity fuels their perpetual outrage
little things like buzzwords change over time
political correctness becomes cancel culture
and those people say Tropic Thunder couldn't be made anymore
but those people were saying Tropic Thunder couldn't be made
when Tropic Thunder was made.

Those people have truncated perspectives
and provide truncated answers
to non-existent questions
then wonder why filmmakers don't respond to the criticism
of someone who watches ten movies per year
and their half-baked commentary on the film industry
that has more to do with their political agenda
rather than any real concern for creative liberty.

Awash in dancing sea glass light
I watch the ocean late at night
But I have never been

The only ocean that I know
Is filled with wintry frozen snow
That God did not intend

I wander cross it in a fright
While tripping often as it’s night
And slipping on the snow

An owl wings above my head
Reminding me of seagulls led
By merchants to the coast

A barrel loaded to the brim
And sailors singing salty hymns
Assault my ears and nose

I grasp the rough hewn timber rail
And hear the snapping of the sail
Among the clapping waves

The salty air upon my tongue
Turns dark and rough and then we plunge
Upon a pitching swell

A glowing branch lights up the sky
I see it though I’ve closed my eyes
And shines upon some hell

I know it from my darkest fears
And shun such moaning from my ears
All thought has lost its perch

Wait, no more am I staring out
Aloof, aghast, about to shout
Now I see ice-glazed birch

They shiver slightly with the cold
A breeze picks up and takes its hold
On sounds from far away

A quiet whisper fills my head
The voice that wracks a soul with dread
And grabs me by the feet

I stand there frozen to my spot
But seeing only driftwood rot
And float away from me

The icy hand that grasped my throat
And pricked my skin and thinned my coat
Now plays his lilting harp

I fall into a deepened sleep
His lullaby like counting sheep
And nod off in the snow

When I awake, a tropic storm
Has thundered in to greet with warm
But hellish gusts of air