Could it ever be?
A man and the sea
A compass, a map
And food for years, three
Could it ever do?
Gleaming pier to peer through
No scratched mirror left to question
And no voice left to construe
Could it ever go?
Blackened waves, ebb and flow
Consulting just the seaweed
Or a friend in the radio
Could he really last?
This liquid land, vast
Such unfavorable forecasts
The looming grey overcast
But with one hand-built mast
He would soar, fly, bypass
Worlds away—on!—steadfast
Trusting in naval brass
Give his hopes to the mist
Give his tears to the brine
Past the unknowns, he'll persist
Lonely mind as his guide
Destination wholly vague
Sail to lead him astray
No haste, nor delay
For a return of late May
All fears to suppress
No shark, no lochness
No pirates to transgress
Nothing to dread, unless...
Should he not get to where he's going
Winds for blowing, clothes for sewing
Moons for glowing, birds for crowing
And one humble vessel rowing...
Ah, but one outcome to foresee
To find himself, amongst debris
To glide past each manatee
Whether high or low degrees
To find his love along the trenches
He must search the ocean floor
Leaky planks and silver wrenches
One bottle drifts ashore
His heart knows warm throbs, and bitter frost
His fingers, geography
His soul knows the depths of love and loss
...And so does the sea
YOU ARE READING
Remnants: A Poetry Collection
PoetryPoetry and a bit of prose, for my heart cannot rest until I tell its stories. Saturated with love, drenched in despair, and drizzled with a touch of hope. rem·nant ▸ noun a small remaining quantity of something. a surviving trace. A poetic...
