It’s been forty days
since I’ve felt the sway
of the silent waters
It’s been too damn long
on the same old song
I needtobreathe again
Let me not write prose concerning some ghosts
when beautiful surrounds, rejoicing abounds,
and yet greater things are to come
The roar of the silent waters echo again,
the old sailor returns to the ocean’s open tides.
Seafarer, you’re a captain, no servant of sin;
the sea’s fairer than what desire denies and hides.
Islands of man are shaped by miles of the I Am.
Am I still that sailor adrift,
the glassy blue I’m amidst?
Is loneliness from my own vain image
or is it a sort of pilgrimage?