A Tall Story. Becalmed

paintedwords

In the quiet, still morning
Of calm waters and painted skies
A tall story waits to be told.

On the surface of life
Becalmed and serene
The undertow is of strife
Not living the dream.

I drift down the river
To lay anchor in muddy waters
A fool waiting for life to deliver
Or a lamb to the slaughter.

Just floating on tides
Sails curtailed
The breeze just a sigh
No canvas unfurled.

Abandoned in the mouth of the estuary
Just point against the tide
Looking to sea and ecstasy
Alone! And no-where to hide.

Barnacles hidden from sight
If exposed would give fright
No longer in youthful flight
That cannot be right.

In the quiet, still morning
Of calm waters and painted skies
A tall story waits to be told.

 

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