Attempt at Independent Sailing
There's always someone who would change me.
Gripping the railing when I begin sailing
on the ocean of my impermanent life,
the tangible end my fingers restrain.
I clutch my identity in assembly,
my inimitable character and line.
Originality is under a strain.
With inevitable human invasion,
adjacent hands with thumbs would decant and mold,
intent to change my sacred domain.
Opposable thumb touching other digits,
creates a connection, a circular
representation of a link in a chain.
I shift, I chaff at the thought of restriction,
of being held to a course of another's choice.
On the sea of independence I remain.
© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump
There's always someone who would change me.
Gripping the railing when I begin sailing
on the ocean of my impermanent life,
the tangible end my fingers restrain.
I clutch my identity in assembly,
my inimitable character and line.
Originality is under a strain.
With inevitable human invasion,
adjacent hands with thumbs would decant and mold,
intent to change my sacred domain.
Opposable thumb touching other digits,
creates a connection, a circular
representation of a link in a chain.
I shift, I chaff at the thought of restriction,
of being held to a course of another's choice.
On the sea of independence I remain.
© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump
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