“The Sinking Ship”

 

Steering my course into a reckless tide,

built my own walking plank, last step… lost my pride.

 

Locked up in a state brig, doing dead time.

Joe Friday told me, don’t do the crime.

 

4X8 cell, nowhere to hide.

 Laying on a crusty mattress the state supplied.

 

Mad at myself, I pace the small space,

a lost mariner about to drown.

The waves, pounding the hull,

crashing loudly…I hear the sound.

 

Sitting, rotting, in old rusty state chains,

no windows, no stars, just tenacious pain.

My ethical compass, not holding the course,

the tide has turned… I must bear the shame.

 

I’m no captain now, just a sunken mutineer,

who lives with his fears.

Creating the storm that sunk my ship,

now on a course that will cost me years.

 

The tide doesn’t turn for men like me,

no rock bottom, we just disappear.

No anchor holding my sinking ship,

What I’ve come to find, there is no docking pier.

 

Wrong course, wrong tack,  

just a fool who sailed…

 

and can’t come back.

​

-Peter