Monday


I am a lonely ship.
You see other ships, but I would tell you I am alone.
They don't talk to me, and I don't talk to them.
I am a lonely ship.

Things bump against my metal sides, and I hear them,
But the things don't hear me.
They swim away, silver and sweet, and shining.
Also, things do cling to my sides, so sometimes there is company;
but we don't speak, just glide-plunge ahead,
silently together.

So I'd say I'm not that alone,
but still.  Kind of alone.
Somewhat alone.
But with friends.

photo by Elias and Theresa Carlson.

1 comment:

nikolesparks said...

i think i've felt this way more times in my life than i care to admit.
there's that yearning, but an undercurrent of possible hopefulness.
and then which is it? the hopefulness, or the yearning.
i'm still asking myself that.