The boat is in the harbor now
All tied up and twisted with the tide
Pressing closer to the slip
Threateningly close it seems
The churning waves chopping down
Completing the circular journey
In lines, from a distant shore
Rowed by scarred and twisted hands
Attached to men of every class
Initiated brothers of the sea’s call
Loud and boisterous in its beckoning
Like a distant foghorn’s bellow
Calling my name in the dead of night
As stagnant as the mid-day sun
Traveling slowly across the western sky
Joining in the desperate parade
Of young and old, conscripted fair
While music dances on the air
The boat is in the harbor now
All tucked in for the winter’s night
And I am standing on the shore
Waiting to board.
Waiting to board.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 