Driftwood’s Lament
The sea is cold, but it contains the hottest blood of all.
Red light flashes up above—
off: one, two, three, four
on: one, two, three, four
off: one, two, three, four
on: one, two, three, four
This bed is an ocean.
I cling to the flotsam
at the tide’s whispering edge.
Can’t get in,
can’t get off.
Once upon a forest, a mighty oak—
men with salted tongues
and stars in their eyes
laid hands
and whispered destiny.
Hewn, sawed, and shaped,
I became the things of others:
a boudoir chaise,
where I held beautiful women
in my arms;
a stately table of dignitaries—
men who stepped
on the necks of others;
a rough-hewn beam
for the miller’s pride—
I watched the stone
make dust for man;
a keel from my heart,
the spine of dreams
meant to cleave the sea.
I bore the burden of sail and wind,
of cargo and command—until
that night Heaven turned her face,
and the waves grew teeth,
black and sharp.
Now I sleep here,
in pieces,
while undinal songs
urge sailors:
Listen to the siren’s song—
the god of your doom.
Beneath a world
that forgets you,
adrift in the dark,
I keep the watch—buried,
fast in these sands
of broken dreams—
while the red light
watches me.
#poetry #memoir #confession #100DaysToOffload #Writing
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