Mike, first off, I'm so appreciative of the shout out for my new book dealing with the topics you so eloquently put into this poem - reminding me how I still romanticize the depravity of that ship... and how precious it is to be able to write and read about the strength it takes to get through that storm... and meet here safely on the shore. All my love and gratitude to read this today. x
Cyn, thank you so much. That means more to me than you know.
Yes, “romanticize the depravity of that ship” is exactly right. That’s part of what struck me when I found this poem again. I could feel the darkness, but I could also hear the young man trying to make that darkness easier to digest, because maybe that made it easier to survive.
I’m deeply grateful you read it with such care, and even more grateful that your book exists. It's important to tell these stories for the people still living inside the mess.
Thanks for sending this rather frightening poem. I'm so glad that you're "in the light" again. Blessings. And keep writing those poems. I'll read them gladly.
Marianna, thank you so much. That means a lot to me.
It was a scary place to write from, and I’m not going to lie, it’s a strange place to revisit after all these years. I’m grateful beyond words to be back in the light, and even more grateful to still have the chance to write from here.
This moved me deeply. What I hear in this is not only darkness, but signal. The repeated line — “in search of what I do not know” — feels like the whole truth of the poem. Addiction often looks like self-destruction from the outside, but from the inside it can feel like a desperate search for the thing that will quiet the grinding noise, name the hunger, or stop the storm.
You describe it beautifully now: you thought you were the captain, but you were being assailed by winds you did not understand. That is the mercy of hindsight. The younger voice did not yet have the language for trauma, shame, hunger, or grief, but the psyche was still speaking. The poem was trying to tell the truth before the man could fully know it.
To me, that matters.
Because the darkness did not get the final word. The voice survived long enough to become witness. And perhaps that is part of healing: not erasing the lost self, but honoring the one who kept sailing through the night in search of something he could not yet name.
The fact that you can now read him with compassion is no small thing. That may be the evidence that the search was never only for escape. It was also, somehow, for return.
Thank you so much for sharing. It is a beautiful poem and I am so glad you found it. It is lovely to see where writers have come from, to see the early steps in the journey, it helped me to understand your now a little more
Hat-tip to this Mike. I've lost a few friends to times when this particular boat has capsized and somewhat darkly cathartic to see it on a page when one's head still puzzles about their states of mind etc. Onward.
The poet in you existed all those years ago —and finding the poem at this moment seems somehow providential. There’s so much meaning in that. And beautiful piece of work. ❤️
Finding it again does feel strangely providential. Like some younger, darker version of me left a message in a bottle, and somehow it washed back up at exactly the right time.
Mike, first off, I'm so appreciative of the shout out for my new book dealing with the topics you so eloquently put into this poem - reminding me how I still romanticize the depravity of that ship... and how precious it is to be able to write and read about the strength it takes to get through that storm... and meet here safely on the shore. All my love and gratitude to read this today. x
Cyn, thank you so much. That means more to me than you know.
Yes, “romanticize the depravity of that ship” is exactly right. That’s part of what struck me when I found this poem again. I could feel the darkness, but I could also hear the young man trying to make that darkness easier to digest, because maybe that made it easier to survive.
I’m deeply grateful you read it with such care, and even more grateful that your book exists. It's important to tell these stories for the people still living inside the mess.
I’m glad we both made it to shore.
Thanks for sending this rather frightening poem. I'm so glad that you're "in the light" again. Blessings. And keep writing those poems. I'll read them gladly.
Marianna, thank you so much. That means a lot to me.
It was a scary place to write from, and I’m not going to lie, it’s a strange place to revisit after all these years. I’m grateful beyond words to be back in the light, and even more grateful to still have the chance to write from here.
Blessings to you as well.
This moved me deeply. What I hear in this is not only darkness, but signal. The repeated line — “in search of what I do not know” — feels like the whole truth of the poem. Addiction often looks like self-destruction from the outside, but from the inside it can feel like a desperate search for the thing that will quiet the grinding noise, name the hunger, or stop the storm.
You describe it beautifully now: you thought you were the captain, but you were being assailed by winds you did not understand. That is the mercy of hindsight. The younger voice did not yet have the language for trauma, shame, hunger, or grief, but the psyche was still speaking. The poem was trying to tell the truth before the man could fully know it.
To me, that matters.
Because the darkness did not get the final word. The voice survived long enough to become witness. And perhaps that is part of healing: not erasing the lost self, but honoring the one who kept sailing through the night in search of something he could not yet name.
The fact that you can now read him with compassion is no small thing. That may be the evidence that the search was never only for escape. It was also, somehow, for return.
Great comment Ernie and entirely correct. Thanks for reading!
Thank you so much for sharing. It is a beautiful poem and I am so glad you found it. It is lovely to see where writers have come from, to see the early steps in the journey, it helped me to understand your now a little more
Thank you for reading it! I have come so far from that place. But, addiction does that to a person.
Hat-tip to this Mike. I've lost a few friends to times when this particular boat has capsized and somewhat darkly cathartic to see it on a page when one's head still puzzles about their states of mind etc. Onward.
Will, thank you. I’m sorry for the friends you’ve lost to that particular sea.
That was one of the strangest things about finding this poem again. It came from a place I barely survived. But I'm so glad to have made it out.
Onward, indeed.
The poet in you existed all those years ago —and finding the poem at this moment seems somehow providential. There’s so much meaning in that. And beautiful piece of work. ❤️
Susan, I love this. Thank you.
Finding it again does feel strangely providential. Like some younger, darker version of me left a message in a bottle, and somehow it washed back up at exactly the right time.
I’m deeply grateful the poet in me survived.
That feels somehow spiritual in a way, doesn’t it?
This is really powerful stuff.
Peter, thank you. I, too, still feel its power, even after all these years. I’m grateful it landed with you.
powerful. strong. true. just like you! 💞
Venus, now you’ve gone and made me blush. 😊 That may be the sweetest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Thank you. ❤️
i’m glad i could make you smile. sometimes the kindness from a person we don’t know is all it takes to be reminded of our true reflection. 💖