The Fisherman

The Sun and Moon glow their tune, far after we are done, 

But when a monsoon, hits the shore, the power is almost gone. 

The fisherman went walking, along the sandy shore, 

Looking for a place to fish, told in legends and common lore. 

All day and night, by lantern light 

The fisherman tried again, 

Casting the line into the brine, 

The stubbornness of man. 

For months and years, the Fisher's fears, turned faith to bitter wine. 

But through and through, the Fisher knew, just to cast his line. 

He soaked up the sun, and began to run, some thoughts in his weary mind, sometimes he slept and almost wept, for the world was not too kind. 

The Sun and moon, sang their tune above the Fisher's head, 

Looking down, they saw a frown, 

Of contempt and dread. 

They heard the Fisher stomp and ramble, of the things he should have done, to keep the truth from coming out, the troubles of a loyal son. 

The Sun and Moon, discussed the toon, of the comic that they saw, 

Until the fisher stopped his line, 

His chest dirty, red, and raw. 

How can it be, he yelled at the sea, 

That I have tried and tried for years, 

To find the perfect place to fish, 

But all I find are tears. 

The Sun and Moon took concern, with what the Fisherman had not learned, although he set up the camp without a cramp, his reddened eyes were sore. 

The Star and Rock found his cries to be wasted on the sea,  but the feelings they had, for the fisherman dad, came without a fee. 

The two came down, to the Fisherman, and asked what the problem was, but he felt fear and uncertainty, when, now trembling he begun. 

6 years ago, I shot a bow, into a willow  tree, I left it there, full of  despair, left it there for all to see. 

The sun replied, " Why do you cry", an honest question it was, for the Son knew the pains and suffering of a troubled cause. 

The arrow was given to me, because my friends, saw I could hold it close, and the friends told me what to do, if their shenanigans came to a nose. 

They said  “Shoot the arrow into my tree, if you think things are turning bad, then I will see and understand that what I’m doing just ain’t rad. 

For three years I kept the arrow’s shaft straight and strong, on alert for anything that my friends had done wrong. 

But then I grew busy, with my other work, and felt tremendous burden, and the once straight arrow, was a bent and sorry concoction. 

Since I lost grasp, with the task, that my friends had shown me, they traveled down paths, that couldn’t last, stop them I couldn’t only. 

And then at last there came a path, that shouldn’t have been traveled, and when I pulled the arrow back, I could hear the awful tells and bells. 

The arrow flew, and I knew, its course was off indefinitely, for I had lost touch with the skill, of keeping arrows straight and truly.  

It landed in the willow tree, but shoulda planted it in an oak, and so the friend was confused, and I realized and was woke. 

I apologized for the misconception, that this person was off their rocker, but this person didn’t understand and shunned me, kicked me like I was soccer.  

So now I walk to find the place where I can fish long and free, instead of fishing for wrongs and rights, so they don’t trouble me.  

The Sun and Moon looked at him, until the Luna stated, “Do not worry about this son. You should not be aggravated.” 

The fisherman tired, and cast out his wire, as the Sun and Moon left the scene, full of thoughts and contemplations, staring into the green. 

And then a tug came on his line, with which he was much surprised, for even through all the things he thought, this was just sublime. 

He pulled and tugged, on the pole, trying to land the fish, and with his strength, the line pulled taught, he made a painful wish. 

“I wish to have the strength to see, the problems truly had, by those who really trusted me, for now I am real sad.” 

With a heave and a ho, he landed the fish, onto the salty shore, and figured out why the place was told in common lore.  

The fish was shaped, like a heart, the hook was broken in two, but the fish itself was tiny and frail, the weakness of not having H2. 

If eaten, the fish would not have given much supply, and if left there, all alone, it was surely bound to die.  

The fisherman, finally saw, the wisdom that he sought, it came to him, not unlike a dream, it came within a thought. 

“You see this fish and wonder why it gave you such a fight, and you don’t understand the power to be had by the little fish in the night. 

You realize now the fate you brought down upon your den of friends, but the problems you were taking on, you tried to fight them all like fiends. 

Instead you attacked the heavyweights with little to no force, and belittled the fly weights with the power of a Norse. 

But all the problems that you saw, you worried and disagreed, but did you end them with the bow, no you just sowed the seed. 

Now you know, that when you sow, it can lead to foul crop, so instead of going to bed, your feelings need to stop. 

For the problems they have, are not that grave, as this fish is showing, but how they’re read is still instead, a great white, dangerous upon the landing.” 

The Fisherman sat, and thought it through, until he understood, he picked up the fish, took back his wish, and threw it to the ocean.  

He stared in the green of the sea, and saw the rocks beneath him, and with the sight of Tiny Tim, bound his hands and jumped right in, to the life he had been avoiding. 


This poem is about: 
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741