their masts made of glass
and their sails shimmering white
stark snowy bedsheets in a blanket on blue
fragile and young
they set sail
facing the endless blue sea of life
and riding the tides of time
they drift
and weave
and ride until they find the period at the end of their sentence
they leave, traveling far beyond the hammers that built them
taking upon themselves lives of their own
Immortalizing themselves amid hurricanes
far from anchors or lifelines in a place where they may someday sink
they rise and fall with the morning sun and ride the moon
because ships do not bow at the thrones of kings
they do not sleep and they do not break
but ships are not alone
they brave the roaring sun
and lost crumbling boats
and miles of thunder that sound like the broken bones of common men
(because all men are common
beneath their skin)
all ships know that they sail
but they know not where they're going
just that if they're sailing
there must be something to sail for
No comments:
Post a Comment