Sail A poem about death

Sail

 

I made a one-man yacht,

When I was innocently young. 

I instilled my dreams into its decorative art, 

And my iron will into its mast so it would last long. 

 

I set sail on a day fair and clear, 

Crossing the winding river Humanity.

I didn’t pay the river a penny of fear, 

Cause I was sailing towards the bank Eternity. 

 

I slipped into a thick fog of desire,

And was lost in its seductive humidity.  

Then I strayed into a blinding fog of greed,

And inhaled its insidious morbidity.    

My eyes were amused by endless mirage,

And asked my heart “Have we reached Eternity?”

 

英文诗歌， 很多有关死亡。 我也尝试写一首。 有朋友说这让她想起一幅画， Island of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin, 也贴在这里。