The Drowning Man Poem by Jacquelyn Turnage

Words like tattered sails
Fail to harness air
Or the faintest breath of life.
The heart, left empty now
Time spent bailing
Bucketsfull of impending tears
Falling endlessly, it seems
Drowning the soul that
Lies deep within the hull
Of the inevitably 'unsinkable ship'.
The warm lapping of the brine on skin
Nor the soft whispers of crosswinds
Can provide comfort
To the drowning man.
Soon, like those before him,
Having already fallen victim to
The haunting cliffs
And the Sirens that own them
'All will be left is a fleshless set of bones
With his emptiness now on display
For all to finally see.
This is the curse of the man
That defies Posideon
And takes on the tempest.