Wading For Tomorrow

Wading For Tomorrow

A Poem by Michael Handel

at first ~ I was a man short sqat and white

my sight locked on land a dealer in man

selling souls in chains packed tight neath

deck in dank rooms chains dangling tunes

of lonliness and families with dark skins

torn at the breast.

I ~ a seller of slaves digging graves for the

living dead my chattle (like cattle) led to the

slaughter.  Many voyages I'd made and never

ever afraid the path to my destiny built from

bricks shaped by nappy heads and ashy hands.

 

second ~ the kriegsmarine dream I stood on

the deck of the Tirpitz built to sink men whilst

riding wolfpack's back. We rattled Brits with

reins pulled hard built with steel and Anglo fear

we'd sit on the waves and wait nestled in

Norway's bosom. Den einsame Norddronning

with virgin-like tact guised well our whoreish intent

and to the depths we went sunk for fatherland

and fuhrer we cried ~ our dream capsized and

I awoke...

but I never sink nor die I awake each day the same

and wait ~ wait for the alpha-male howl and the

slavemaster's request. Made of infinite I lust limitations

to dock me at bay so I can sit under seagulls and

share with them my tales of the toils of all my past lives

of all who died by my side whilst I snapped into the next

life to be sat in a corner to question the nature of man.

The hatred I am a fuming furnace fueled by bitterness

billows out my window by way of my eyes.

 

We are worthless ~ all of us ~ especially you

and I just want to get home to the shore of time

and burn my clothes off to wade in the waves

and soak and sulk and float on the graves

of my former lives ~ to leave the world behind

for the next ~ to drown in destiny and birth

tomorrow in a more suitable sequence

my rebirth immaculate irony incarnate

I return to the sea

© 2008 Michael Handel


Author's Note

Michael Handel
eh

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your brain just fascinates the hell out of me. kat-stamp.

xxx

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on December 22, 2008

Author

Michael Handel
Michael Handel

Philadelphia, PA



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"my poems are only scratchings on the floor of a cage" -Charles Bukowski more..

Writing



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