Poem: Ride on the Riptide

I’m losing it all again
Going out with the leeward tide
Absorbed by every little grain
Tipsy boat tipsy mind tipsy ride
A spent force with arms all lame
Back strain, bent frame, brain fried
Tide up, tied down, tide down, down the drain
No sound, all around no ground
To be found, where you hide
My distress call is stressed at best
And it protests and contests
But love it does contain and the pain
Of tightening the rein with a mixed metephor from boat ride to horse ride
To gain the ground i’ve lost in the eighth line
With the coming high of the home straight
Which will lead straight to your side
As you stand waiting at the start line


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