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I seek a haven from the storm,
A refuge that defies the thund’ring skies
And shelters me safe and warm
I fly before a fearsome gale,
A chill wind that blows until noone knows
In what direction I sail
I’m tossed about like a wooden chip,
My yardarms moan, my canvases groan
And I teeter on an abyss lip....
About me the everlasting thunder rolls,
Lightning plies the darkened skies
And the winds shriek like Hell-damned souls...
Alas! My steering ropes break!
The wheel spins free as I plow through the sea,
Leaving a twisting, sinuous wake.
I’m drawn into a vortex, a Stygian pit
Where neither brawn nor brain can ease my pain
And the darkness seems utterly infinite...
The strain is hideously appalling!
My timbers crack, the sails go slack
And still I go on, forever falling..
I’m being torn asunder, my death is near
I meet my end without a friend,
But also without fear.
Karl Stuart Kline
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| Comments about this poem ((3.21) Storm's End by Karl Stuart Kline) |
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Click here to write your comments about this poem ((3.21) Storm's End by Karl Stuart Kline)
Melvina Germain (3/7/2007 2:59:00 AM)
A brutal storm indeed, harsh, fierce, great imagry depicted here Karl. You paint a sad picture in the end. I truly like the last two lines. (I meet my end without a friend, but also without fear) . You've managed to portray the presence of God giving strength, even though one knows the end is near, they look into the face of death without fear. Excellent poem. A big (10) from me.---Melvina--- |
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