Monday, August 30, 2010


lying in the grass
Looking up through a gentle tree
Whispering secrets in the breeze
Wisonsin feels kind, just now

Wondering, should i plot a course?

Trouble is,
I only have Jack Sparrow's compass
And it always leads me
To storms

God, how i love the storms!

But this ship, so broken and battered,
How many tempests can she drive?
I lean a mast and watch my wake
From the stern,
And think of the dusty charts
Rolled and parched

That was never my way

Some men are born to storms
And crazy compasses
Such am i

So do i go bare poles and drift?
Or full sail, tattered and torn?
Could make a run for the harbour
Sell stories from the pier
And let the storms rage without me

Feel that breeze?
She's stiffening
The clouds billow and dare me come

Truth is,
I don't know any other way

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