:: Tuesday, September 02, 2003 ::

I write poetry because I am a homosexual.

Overhead I hear the pleas
of power lines on a salty breeze
The sunlight pours in scattered slits
Through swooping trees under which I sit

A noisy boat in stark contrast
to lapping waves beneath its mast
I wish these people would pause and see
their reflections drifting in the sea

Strands of blond float over my face
the waves break in an even pace
God's hand swoops down a mighty rush
gently moulding each tree and bush

The secrets which the ocean holds
Are hidden 'neath burned flesh in folds
In sunken eyes and scratchy beards
Of ones who know no place but here

But if you can evoke a "hi"
He'll stretch and creak his joints and sigh
And take you on as new first mate
Then hook you on his line as bait

Don't blubber quite so frantically
Within your reach the dubloons be
That dwell inside inky black caves
No breath of life beneath the waves

And when he reels back in his line
He'll find an orb suspended in time
That plucks itself right off the hook
Then follows the path it originally took

Now joined by scoundrels, soul ripped out
There's nowhere fit to cry and shout
Except with seadogs and things that creep
Far far beneath the briny deep.

:: Floydthebarber 9/02/2003 10:34:00 PM [+] ::
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