Off course

Here is a bit of a diversion from my adventures, the old seeds of poetry are starting to sprout again as the cold days turn lighter and warmer.



As the fog gently rolls off the ocean

He sits in a bar drinking rum,

That is made by a fellow Capitan of a different trade.

In one hand he holds the drink gulping often,

While the other is somewhere in the belly of a beast.

His heart is as cold as the metal that is his hand.

They call him Hook

They call him a villain.

But is he anything more than a man driven to insanity by the loss of something close?

We are all like Hook in a way,

We try to drown our sorrows

But must be careful not to be pulled down with them into the darkness of despair.