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by Peter Marinelli

Sunk! Sunk!
The tales have been told.

The sky opened wider and wider,
my eyes raped by its infinite gray.

Clouds scurried to distant hideaways,
dreading the burden of caretaking
yet another ghost.

Sunk! Sunk!
Living treasures slept in the depths
feeding on dark nutrients
in moments of lucidity.

The sun's golden fingers did not penetrate
the unforgiving black crests,
did not penetrate their geography.

After the prescribed timeline,
laughter floated on the wind
echoing off the foam and chilly violence,
fathoms above my unseeing eyes,
leaving no memories in its wake.


Posted on 05/10/2011
Copyright © 2024 Peter Marinelli

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/12/11 at 12:07 AM

Quite good!...Excellent!! Maybe entirely unintentional, but I can even see a bit of Walt Whitman's style of expression here.

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