dropped out

[vagabond]

dropped out
 
 
how to hold on to slippery beliefs?
gritting teeth  since I can´t use my arms,
I need them to cling to the line
slowly inching through time,
estimating leftover strength.
the storm´s blowing again,
pulls me right, encountered by greeds,
pushes left, shakes with sorrows and fears.
 
how to follow these aims, to what end?
across the sea, on a string of high hopes
that don´t carry much, but quite far.
tiny point, I´m too tired to move,
rubbery bones, like this rope,
stretching further on, down.
 
so the droplets of fading faith
join where they always belonged,
and plans dilute into dreams,
while the horizont shifts,
the sky turns a blue-green,
storms calm and then cease.

mainly I hope for responses wether and what kind of meaning can be drawn from this, but any type of comment is appreciated including harsh critique, pointing out embarrassing spelling or grammar errors, jokes, deviations from topic and surreal associations.

[nibbed]

Hi, vagabond

Your poem is real poetry.
Thank you for a poem.
I hope you get blessed really big.


dropped out                                                            I wonder if this means given up, like many of us do on things
 
 
how to hold on to slippery beliefs?                       i like how this expresses things
gritting teeth  since I can´t use my arms,               many can relate
I need them to cling to the line
slowly inching through time,
estimating leftover strength.                                
the storm´s blowing again,
pulls me right, encountered by greeds,
pushes left, shakes with sorrows and fears.              
 
how to follow these aims, to what end?
across the sea, on a string of high hopes                i like this line
that don´t carry much, but quite far.
tiny point, I´m too tired to move,
rubbery bones, like this rope,
stretching further on, down.
 
so the droplets of fading faith                                 droplets of fading faith remind me of tears that are wept during prayer
join where they always belonged,                                                                          when only God can understand the mess
and plans dilute into dreams,                                   i hate when plans dilute into dreams, but it's good poetry
while the horizont shifts,
the sky turns a blue-green,
storms calm and then cease.                                     storms are beautiful




thank you vagabond.
janine