The Aftermath is the same poem rewritten nine days later and trying to get some structure and rhythm, maybe even some sense of the words that came to me a week earlier.  I like (hate) both versions as they both are pretty descriptive of how I was feeling at the time.

A Gale has Risen (The Aftermath)

A gale has risen, it wracks the shores

Stealing a tiny boat breaking its moors

Tossed beneath lightning, spinning around

Dragging the thread that once held secure

Such a little boat and made of wood

Though it’s sunk, by it’s nature, afloat

Longing for peace, the fathom’s lure

Grabbed, tossed, shocked, stunned

Then pulled down once more

The weather is high, the wind in turmoil

The seas foam, the clouds almost boil

It’s a raft now, capsized and torn

It’s become the sea, the current, the waves

A dark shape, alone, forlorn

Lost in the fury of the storm

A gale has risen it tears the soul

The pounding of my blood

Drifting beneath raging seas

With only the thread that was once secure

A memory that’s past, that’s come apart

The submerged ship that’s lost, bereaved

The breaking of my heart

Daniel Copper  11-21-02

Revised 11-30-02