by Michael Plante

I was impressionable;
a young mind with a strong spirit
determined and bull-headed.
I was third born in a tribe of three
small by statute, fragile,
yet never one to back down from a fight.

The hardest luck is bad luck
yet it teaches the trait of endurance.
A coin placed into the bank of life that retains its value
never dulls, and when it spills onto the floor, its always at the right time.
On a rainy day, the bank cracks open
and I cash in.

Hardship is only hardship if you understand there’s a difference;
for the rest of us it’s a vessel we maintain, steer and rest upon.
We devour the winds of humanity in our sails
and cut the waters of despair admirably.
A ship of fools from a different perspective
might look like insanity
yet it’s the oldest vessel known to man.

On the cusp of dawn I awaken;
insanity is believing this day will be different
so I watch as the darkness is strangled by the light
as it has always been since creation.
Hunger moves a soul forward
pass the boarder of principles,
I taste the blood of darkness’ death
and dance without reserve or remorse.

A day’s toil in turmoil
speaks silently to madness.
Come forth to the table that feeds us all
stab the beast that lays on the dinner table
and cut off your portion
devour the rewards of strife
let the light fade away to reveal the stars that guide you in the darkness
and dream with the poets and painters.

The tribe of three still exists
my brother
my sister
myself.
One rests upon the shores far from home
one seeks the sunset from the bow of the ship
one steers the ship into the night where poets and painters dream.

As this ship passes over the sea of life
coins of hardship slip from my fingers
into the darkness they sink
and into a nightmare
of a different perspective.


Image: Ship of Fools by Ignatius Graffeo

All compositions that appear on The Poet’s House are composed by Michael Plante and are subject to copyright.
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