the thrashing of the see

when Swimming from thAt broken boat

and hoping-- to surVivE

froM climbing up upon the shorE

and being half alive:


wHen i awake upon thE sand

and Lurch uP from my grave

My eyes are rapid, damp, and dull

without my mind---a mazE


i sit and Ponder simpLe things

likE why humAns are kind

if i dont See one honEst deed

i surely must be blind


but as i sit there on bleaK sand

I sign off on my wiLL

for i have no More tears to cry

for thosE who sin and hide...




This poem is about: 
Our world
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