Unmoored,
Between two worlds,
Belonging only to a motley crew
Of untethered souls.
Shanghaied,
By unmerciful Captain Time.
No turning back,
No sight of calm, familiar bays.
Heard tell of
Most beautiful,
Fruit-laden beaches ahead.
Yet, are they as luxurious as told?
Be thy climate warm as I dream?
Be thy fruit truly ripe for picking?
Surely some cultivation be required.
Seems some are disheartened,
For labor we be to harvest those fruits.
So to,
We shall torch these ships,
On yonder shore.
We shall somberly gaze,
As at funeral pyres.
Aye, but soon, we must either turn,
To what tasks be at hand,
Or waft away,
A miserable breeze to oblivion.
Yet others feel hope, as do I,
For the feast, or famine,
Is to be wholly our own.
Wholly our own,
Yet, I shall find another
Who feels as I do.
We two, and only we two,
Will pool our bounty, or barrenness,
As I am for gathering game,
And she for the fruit.
Shall we reap a bountiful harvest?
Sun doth smile lovely upon my cheek.
I've faith
Thy glow shall nourish
Seeds of generations yet to be.
Aye, to steer others clear of
Treacherous rocks and shoals
Barely survived in our own passing,
Ohh, to provender their hold with
Compass, sextant, and charts
We chance to lack,
Be this not the crown of paradise?
Aye,
Perchance some deed we do,
Some tool or knowledge we earn,
May pass on in perpetuity
After we lay hand upon,
Aye, enjoy thoroughly, fruits of
Our own corner of yonder shore.
Aye,
We shall wear these crowns,
Entangled in eachother,
Filled to burst with remembering,
As the sun explodes blood red
On tarnished silver waters,
Drawing strong, sure,
Well-fit vessels from our sight.
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What I 'Felt' To Say Was...
Poetry"Poetry can be therapy, so shut the door and get comfortable, we've been through a lot since our last visit. Glad to see you brought coffee. Just a reminder, I know this is expensive, but like life there are no guarantees. I do expect to stir s...
