My ship sets stream
for green island coves and carpentry repairs,
but what can mend a rabid man
whose skull flys in despair?
If love can heal, then love must bear
the burdens of my past,
the blight of evils said and done,
can even time outlast?
I do not know these answers
for it is the sea, who is my teacher,
the harsh lesson that she tutors,
as with brine she schools the leeches,
that fall in her deep grip, her openness
and the blue mirror of her glass
that reflects the shallow bitterness
which undermines my class,
of a raping pirate, thieving thug,
and no poetry can mask
the true horror of my murderous being
and the rupture of my cask
that leaks my life blood
into her vast and corrosive brine.
I drink from her, an evil thirst,
which has never satisfied.
I crave the pungent taste that feeds
the salt madness of my mind.
If I still believe that god can save
a wretched slimy thing,
it is what that fruit, that single fruit,
has offered me to bring,
whatever remnants of my soul
that loss and suffering has purged,
I take back to that place, that island cove,
where a chance meeting occurred.
And again I call to you;
I call to you,
to feel the softness of your hand.
Tell me I am still your Captain!
Tell me I am still your man!
Captain Cur
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/demon-seas-part-8/
