The Mind of a Sailor

April 24, 2009
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I can tell you the difference in the mind of a sailor
And the wheels of a trailer
It’s not the motion their goin’
Nor is it what they seem to be towin’
It’s the wheels, ya see, whether they turn or they roll
Cause we all know only one’s got a soul
Between the polished intentions
And the circus chimp’s pensions
Everyone’s familiar with the race
And I can’t help but think anyone can learn to trace

And it’s the passion that drives me in and out of the lines
Its got my tongue twisted like preztzel knots
Every memory as pungent as forget me nots
But they always seem to feed the flame
The one’s that hurt and the one’s that soothe. There all to blame.
Its never how you expect it. The blueprint never seems to fit.
But I can tell you, somewhere along the way we find that its worth it
When all you got to hope for is hope itself
When there seems to be one too many books on your shelf
When your voice itches and your mind gets hoarse
When nothing seems to be running its course
When you’re caught in the spikes of the wheel
Everyone keeps asking you how you feel
And how I’m feeling is on the tip my tongue
But I burnt those taste buds when I was young
When I’m inching my broken down Jalopy on route 66
Only hoping the unpromising “promised land” will be my fix.

And it’s like a good ol’ pavement facial when reality sets back in.
Uncomfortable as it might be, I never saw humility as a sin
It feels like someones slowly pulling in your deserted raft
And its then and there you realize you’ve forgotten how to laugh
Ill never forget the bareness of the hospital floor
Ironically enough, it leaves your own heart increasingly sore
And as they reached into her chest, they reached into mine
So I pointed my angry steel gun straight at the sun
But it melted in my hand
Its that feeling like the stones in your stomach have turned to sand
And the symbols of the steeple, the ones my mind had grown so accustomed to damning
Felt like the embrace of a thousand people

The memories that sleep
Every image I keep
Each waiting for their valued resurrection
Like a childhood baseball card collection
The years provide dust
But I can assure you they never will rust….

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pinkvolleyballgirl said...
May 3, 2009 at 2:53 am
I really love your poem. The imagery is great. I can almost taste the gritty dust in my mouth. Very good job, Work on shortening the poem maybe to appeal to more readers just because the length might feel overwhelming. Great. Check out (if u hav time) two of my favorite pieces:
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