PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was young, like a broke colt

Holding onto my last hope

Making love to my uncles

In parking lots

I was trapped in a car seat

Tied down to the backseat

Call your gamble, call it badly

I was lost

I was young, a worker

Holding conference in street corners

Never once thought I was broken

Or something else

But the drugs were wild

I guess through the bile

I found something worthwhile

or something else

Holding onto the mast as the storms rage on

cursing the winds that won't take me home

Cursing any god, cursing everyone

Just trying not to be lost

I felt sorry for myself

And I put my sorrow on the top shelf

Self-pity and self-doubt, well

I had it all...

I was angry with the pastor's

For helping those rat-bastards

Take advantage of my soul

Take advantage of me

But still I dream of rest,

on the shore of the blest

Where my wife still waits for me

And through this ocean fog

And the storm raging on

I can sense the shore will soon come to me

Soon the shore will come unto me

Holding onto the mast as the storms rage on

cursing the winds that won't take me home

Cursing any god, cursing everyone

Just trying not to be lost

Just trying