The winds were blowing, the waves were high,
The gale was raging and death was nigh.
The mast was broken, our stores were bare.
I dared not raise my head, for who could be there?
You, you, my faithful first mate,
Were there to steer me through the narrow gate.
We reached the harbor and finished our journey,
Turned to set forth again, and surely,
As you were once here,
Now you are gone.
And I must face the ocean,
Alone.
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Selections from the warped minds of Kory Wood and Justin Owen. Well, mostly just Kory. Justin just takes care of the technical things and makes the blog look pretty.
3 comments:
"Oh first mate, my first mate..."
Dude, people already question our tag-team blogging. Maybe I shouldn't reference a Walt Whitman poem. ha ha ha
I got it Kory, nice reference. This is a depressing poem. That was not a criticism Justin by the way I was just pointing out it contained sadness in it.
It's supposed to be depressing . . . it was written by a depressed me at a depressing time when something depressing happened.
Who hasn't suffered a loss that changed their direction? The point is that you keep sailing.
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