Friday, 2 March 2012

Futures

Futures

Broken anchor cast asunder
Amongst the depths of disparity
And the negligence of idyllic prospects and common goals.
Without a care in the world, I fly,
Free.

The breaking tide construes
The ambiguous objects of my desire,
And my path, well-trodden by feet
Of those who walked before me
Lies jagged and unclear.
Without guidance I seek
To end this voyage.
To settle.

But alas, I cannot
Find meaning in what comes before me
Even though the guidance of my peers
Attempts to calm
The well-worn ocean
Of broken dreams and goals envisaged
By mad voyagers,
Whose now empty motives
Lie dusty upon the shore.


By Oliver Thompson

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