coldwater1
Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2016
- Posts
- 51
Hi,
I know nothing about poetry, but with a little help from Sexnovella, I put this together. It is more about the message than the quality of the poetry.
Drifting Away
I am floating in a rowboat, I have drifted from the pier.
The water is deep and frigid, I cannot swim from here.
Bobbing about 10 feet from me is a buoy on a rope.
It is tied to the dock, a lifeline still in range, I hope.
I am still strong, hardly diminished from my younger days.
I could easily pull myself back, if I could reach where that float lays.
I resort to paddling with my hand, for I do not have an oar.
Eventually I reach that lifeline and pull myself ashore.
Once again back to normal, not drifting anymore.
This happens often now, nearly every day.
Sometimes the buoy is quite close, other times further away.
By hand, it is difficult to control the direction of this mass.
Sometimes I miss and need to circle and take another pass.
As time goes by, there are days that the buoy is further than ever before,
Just a tiny bit, but there is no doubt that the distance is growing more.
Sometimes I don’t feel motivated enough to try to reach the dock,
And it’s easier just to let the boat on wind and wave to rock.
I fear that a day will come when the buoy is too far to reach.
I will not be able to get there and return to the beach.
Even more, I fear a day that motivation never comes me,
And I simply let the boat drift out to sea.
I’ve seen it happen first hand to someone close to me.
I don’t know which of the two scenarios it was, but I the end result I see.
Mom has drifted so far away she can’t see the buoy anymore.
Though far off in the distance, she can still see the shore.
Someday even that will fade and there will be nothing but endless sea,
As Alzheimer’s insatiable appetite swallows every memory.
I know nothing about poetry, but with a little help from Sexnovella, I put this together. It is more about the message than the quality of the poetry.
Drifting Away
I am floating in a rowboat, I have drifted from the pier.
The water is deep and frigid, I cannot swim from here.
Bobbing about 10 feet from me is a buoy on a rope.
It is tied to the dock, a lifeline still in range, I hope.
I am still strong, hardly diminished from my younger days.
I could easily pull myself back, if I could reach where that float lays.
I resort to paddling with my hand, for I do not have an oar.
Eventually I reach that lifeline and pull myself ashore.
Once again back to normal, not drifting anymore.
This happens often now, nearly every day.
Sometimes the buoy is quite close, other times further away.
By hand, it is difficult to control the direction of this mass.
Sometimes I miss and need to circle and take another pass.
As time goes by, there are days that the buoy is further than ever before,
Just a tiny bit, but there is no doubt that the distance is growing more.
Sometimes I don’t feel motivated enough to try to reach the dock,
And it’s easier just to let the boat on wind and wave to rock.
I fear that a day will come when the buoy is too far to reach.
I will not be able to get there and return to the beach.
Even more, I fear a day that motivation never comes me,
And I simply let the boat drift out to sea.
I’ve seen it happen first hand to someone close to me.
I don’t know which of the two scenarios it was, but I the end result I see.
Mom has drifted so far away she can’t see the buoy anymore.
Though far off in the distance, she can still see the shore.
Someday even that will fade and there will be nothing but endless sea,
As Alzheimer’s insatiable appetite swallows every memory.