A Chest Full of Blue Ropes

In the back there is a chest full of blue ropes,
once useful, or seemingly so, bright
bindings, the things that tied you,
held you, half protection,
half prison. Put away finally
when the storms passed, when you settled
on solid ground again,
no longer in danger of washing off the decks,
becoming flotsam.

You look at it, this chest of ropes,
glad they are not part of your everyday wear,
but still unwilling to let them go,
never sure when you might need them again.

About this poem

About ropes. About the bad habits and fears that bind us. About healing, almost.

Poetry is never about one thing.

Tom

PS – The picture was taken in Provincetown, MA.