Can someone lift my soul and tip
It gently in an ancient ship?
I'm drooped in ancient veins, like lice,
With lucid pain,
With hope ungained,
Feelings untrained,
And lies unclaimed,
And love in-vain,
And woe insane.

My ship is anchored steadily.
It knows, yea, where to row.
With salty pride, azure as skies
Lapping at its prow.

It mounts its crescendo.

All at once, the happy water
The pride of the ship's creaking laughter,
In a meagre, fateful motion,
Washes down into the ocean.

The Sun, a silent sentinel,
Beats down hard upon the scene
A prow that frets and wails from thirst-
A sea of sparkling pride serene.

The ship is stripped of all its pride
As water quits to override
Its prow, and dances down below,
In lament, with the vessel's stride.

A doormat with a high-raised end
With nothing save a scorching friend,
The teetering, pathetic ship
Rides on in hopeless, dry ascent.

The fall.

The vessel, prow and woe and all;
It slickly noses for the fall,
A hyena spotting herd of meat
But bathed in silent, still defeat.

Water grips the creaking wood,
With nothing left above the sea
Save rear end, that, the wave, withstood.

And now the prow has drowned in pride,
And broken its unearthly stride
And smoothly curved from self-disgust
To downputting, abusing pride.

And bathed in vanity, it sinks;
The current brings a sweeter sting,
With every foot of water drowned,
With every smile turned into frown.

The ship is but without a clue,
For what it is that it should choose
Between a life that oozes mirth
Or one that opts for self-abuse.

It muses, thinks and tries to land
On one of both diverging hands,
Alas! This costs the ship its life,
And that's the last it sees of land.

Its face descends in liquid fame,
And narrowly soaks in disdain,
A soggy, yellow piece of paper,
Signing autographs in shame.

For guilt it feels! It feels the tug,
Of conscience, drowsy, rolling drugged,
It feels the pining for the shore
Where Sun and water tightly hugged.

Where confidence was traded not
With balloons of ego, floating low
And dragging you away from sea
To devils snoozing down below.

Where pride existed, good and bright
Where worth did not relate to might,
Where prows stood steadily, not prone
To seizing bouts of fall and flight.

Whatever was the ship's intent,
However good it was at heart,
It let the waves toss her consent
Away, and shatter her to shards.

And now, she moans in dying gasp
As final bubble leaves the sea,
A simple victim of her pride
That rode her prow till misery.

Can someone lift my soul and tip
It gently in an ancient ship?
For that is what, above all else
Embodies my pathetic self.