Sleepy Time

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
About a sailor on a ship.
Not Rhyming Poetry.

Submitted: July 06, 2017

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Submitted: July 06, 2017

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The ship was whirling and rumbling,

all my soldier comrades forced their way onto the top deck

sweeping me along with them.

Cleaning the wooden deck are watery hailstones  

painful with each terrestrial hit.

 

My cap flew away in the wild winds, running after it

I was driven to a painful halt.

when the boats edge crushed into my lower torso causing me to want to

‘hurl’ and give the fish a very late supper.

The main timber ledge of the sail snapped free

it began to swing wildly from side to side

rocking the boat

ferociously.

My body became limp, with fear.

like a sack of flour being rolled, uncontrollably around the deck.

 

My vision starts to blur,

everything becoming a sickening whirlpool of sea and angry sky, wood;

all bleached with rose.

My back suddenly spiked in pain

I pull my trembling and numb body to its feet.

When I remember the swinging bar.

 

My limp person falling backwards into the sea

my mind wandered into the condemning void.

Eternal sleep arriving.


© Copyright 2017 Ann Morse. All rights reserved.

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