We are tied to the ocean

As a wise man once said,
Before he sent a wise man to the moon-
sang Sinatra, in a song of course,
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars!
Instead, Spring in Boston, Massachusetts
Surrounded by the trees and ivy league
He walks. Amidst the second day of spring
TIME in ‘63
Each page, like a day in the life of a legend
Becomes wrinkled with time.
The essence of Boston: strong.
A sense of freedom?
Scents of red-cherry wine
In Martha’s Vineyard,
Does drip-like blood
Onto a blank-white sheets of paper.
Folded into tiny paper planes that fly
To the moon,
That is tied, like us, to the ocean-
Blues,
Like waves-
People watch in awe with their right hand upon the heart-in silence
From the shore of Hyannis Port.
Photographs, like memories,
Fade as time transcends.

And when we go back to the sea,
Whether it is to sail or to watch,
We are going back from whence we came.

“A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on”
-JFK