Loose Ships

Are we not but sinking ships?
Slowly but surely,
Fathom by fathom,
Taking on caustic water yearly,
Our cerebral captains have run a loose ship,
Mutiny is the standard,
The posts aren’t manned,
And the hull is leaking,

The navigator is mollified at the helm,
Drunk on a rum of broken aspirations,
And there’s always a storm in the distance,
We drift past similar vessels,
Kindred spirits,
Unable to salvage one another,
And is that not what we are,
Just shipwrecks in the end.

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