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flag4 · 02-25-13, 12:01 PM

...the demands of our great leader - who calls for more and more when we give so much already.
the sliding tables of the ocean where we float like sardine
cans waiting to be crushed and thrown to the bottom dead as stones.

the crying of my young crew who puke into their dinners and leave their words
splashed on the gratings, torpedos, bed clothes.
the stench of diesel, the wretched mess of men in sweating oily clothes
bedraggled and tired dreaming of home.

the young pale faces with their first fluffy beards and wild frightened eyes
wimpering for their mothers at night through restless sleep.
the endless shifting mountains of the sea that care nothing for me or mine,
my memory - the men who sail with me - the meaningless days we pass through like fog.

the searching and watching - the endless searching and listening for ships too
far away for breaking and sinking - the tons and tons we are supposed to be
chasing.

a photograph lies close to my heart.

the medals for exhausted chests, the grey salt washed clothing, the beers and girls
promised at home,

the clean bright sunlight that warms our faces; the quiet cafe's on backstreets
a breeze through the trees in summer, the long still evenings in a field and her firm
warm body pressed beneath me.

Lt.z.S. Joest Schwantke.

02-25-13, 12:01 PM	#4
flag4 Watch Officer Join Date: May 2007 Location: as far away as possible Posts: 1,625 Downloads: 147 Uploads: 0	you ask about headaches... ...the demands of our great leader - who calls for more and more when we give so much already. the sliding tables of the ocean where we float like sardine cans waiting to be crushed and thrown to the bottom dead as stones. the crying of my young crew who puke into their dinners and leave their words splashed on the gratings, torpedos, bed clothes. the stench of diesel, the wretched mess of men in sweating oily clothes bedraggled and tired dreaming of home. the young pale faces with their first fluffy beards and wild frightened eyes wimpering for their mothers at night through restless sleep. the endless shifting mountains of the sea that care nothing for me or mine, my memory - the men who sail with me - the meaningless days we pass through like fog. the searching and watching - the endless searching and listening for ships too far away for breaking and sinking - the tons and tons we are supposed to be chasing. a photograph lies close to my heart. the medals for exhausted chests, the grey salt washed clothing, the beers and girls promised at home, the clean bright sunlight that warms our faces; the quiet cafe's on backstreets a breeze through the trees in summer, the long still evenings in a field and her firm warm body pressed beneath me. Lt.z.S. Joest Schwantke. __________________ [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC] ' We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different.' Kurt Vonnegut Last edited by flag4; 02-25-13 at 01:05 PM.