In my youth, having been raised by the soil, I had a heart to turn from the land And beg the sea for salvation. For all my raw knees and white knuckles, Croaking voice and hunched shoulders The sea punished me for my betrayal. The waves upset my innards, Forbidding food to settle comfortably, While the wind withered and Cracked my soft young lips And the sun burnt my skin red And robbed me of sound sleep. I did not return until Age had claimed my hardened body And the land was no longer my home. ------ I don't know what to call it. Any ideas?
Hmmm... I don't think I like "Journey", because it's more the leaving and the returning that was important to me when I wrote it.
Nice work. I like this poem. It's very visual and I can see the guy clearly and feel his sadness. Not sure about the title, how about... The Prodigal Farmer. Peace, A.
