Terminal Poem by james watkin

Terminal



Schooner's tussle with the Wind
Lunging through frothy clots
Is our picture of repose.
Course Resignation plots.
Lurching, at groggy angle;
Splattered, staggering on...
If over world's edge, let be.
Into oblivion.

Friday, October 18, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: dying
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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