Thoughts Have Hands

My ship doesn’t float oceans or sail seas.

My ship takes on no water,

But sinks quickly if bearings are lost,

And I can no longer see the real me.

My ship is buoyed by smiles and with friends often catches the wind,

As I converse with them.

My ship plies frank currents where I’m free to steer according to stars I see,

And when I take the helm, and by dead reckoning avoid the doldrums and heavy squalls,

I try to keep an open heart,

without fear in the strange eddies I navigate,

Especially if a good friend helps trim billowing sails on my uncharted course,

and so prevents keeling over,

Then offers safe harbor for me to weigh anchor and gladly dwell for awhile

until I disembark from the comfort of their loving spark once more.

THH

6/19/24

This entry was posted on June 20, 2024 at 4:30 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.