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We do it to ourselves.
We let ourselves hold on.
We anchor ourselves to this false hope
That something could happen.
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Anchors make a man dormant;
Unable to journey.
We see false hope as being better
Than hopelessness.
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We hold on to the imaginary
As long as we can,
Just because of how sweet
A taste of hope can be.
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It's addicting,
But
Every wave
Will crash the shore
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It takes the hands of more than one
To raise an anchor.
The strength of a crew
Is beyond its captain.
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So sit back
And enjoy the view from harbor,
Because the ocean can only be yours
With all hands on deck.
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