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From ancient times
of mariners on stormy seas
before the mast
of lost, howling, ships a rollin'
seamen slipping, sliding,
grasping in the open air
for a hand hold finding nothing there

Lost in the wilderness of seas
fighting for sanity in a world
of insanity, grasping for the ray of light
guiding the rudderless ship to safety in the night
a pilot with a steady hand
a plan of action straight as the arrow flies
sailing forth to open sunny skies
star filled nights on calm seas
shrimp sunsets on the horizon
a harbinger of sun filled days
carefree lounging on the deck
and being captain of your own ship,
yes, a dream worthy of dreaming.

bentfeather (c) 01.15.06

Ah, open skies, rolling waves, beatuful thing of
sail and hull and dancing prow
I met you twice.

That first day was overcast and dreary,
but as you rode your hawsers at that dock,
shaming all lessers near you,
the sun shone white upon your deck,
sleek and dark your hull,
soaring tall your twin masts above.

And I fell in love.

I saw, you, after watching you from afar,
and I knew, though you did not,
you had me that day.

Next I saw you, shining sun,
gentle rippling waters around you,
the belle of the ball even more than before
pretenders scattered on your decks,
in your cabins and your hold
but I think you knew what I had told
your silent slick exterior, as I looked
and felt your spirit in your timbers that day.

And I loved you still.

Ten years since that glorious day,
I strode your deck and felt your humming spires
whispering all my secret desires
of chasing the horizon with my hands on you,
me holding you, you tempting me,
carrying me off to your home in the sea,
but it was never, not to be,
others came and we went onward,
but I dream of steering starward
with you still.

And I love her still.