Jun 2014
My life on the outward journey
so far off I had not a clue
Leagues and leagues yet to go
passed the *** with the rest of the crew
For many a year the winds blew favor
upon my life’s journey and quest
Stopped at many a port in the storm
but for few, have forgotten the rest
Many the souls with which I started
at a score plus maybe three years
Have fallen prey to life's rough way
washed to sea along with their tears
Wind swept decks of my old ship
where I've lived, loved and wept
Well-worn friends who shared my fate
rode the seas on which we slept
It came one night there were fewer days
ahead than there had been behind
Found myself gazing to morning light
toward homes loving ties that bind
But the sea between here and there
be rough like the tempest shrew
Fighting the wind to sail the waves
tossed and thrown in the churning brew
Keeping the bow pointed for home
with the wind or against as we tack
Push for port through the fading light
look ahead and never look back
I turn for port thinking of you
my voyages end where they start
Time this sailor found his way home
to feel the warmth of hearth and heart
Tate
Original poem with endearing photos and musical accompaniment
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/545914/
so far off I had not a clue
Leagues and leagues yet to go
passed the *** with the rest of the crew
For many a year the winds blew favor
upon my life’s journey and quest
Stopped at many a port in the storm
but for few, have forgotten the rest
Many the souls with which I started
at a score plus maybe three years
Have fallen prey to life's rough way
washed to sea along with their tears
Wind swept decks of my old ship
where I've lived, loved and wept
Well-worn friends who shared my fate
rode the seas on which we slept
It came one night there were fewer days
ahead than there had been behind
Found myself gazing to morning light
toward homes loving ties that bind
But the sea between here and there
be rough like the tempest shrew
Fighting the wind to sail the waves
tossed and thrown in the churning brew
Keeping the bow pointed for home
with the wind or against as we tack
Push for port through the fading light
look ahead and never look back
I turn for port thinking of you
my voyages end where they start
Time this sailor found his way home
to feel the warmth of hearth and heart
Tate
Original poem with endearing photos and musical accompaniment
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/545914/
I pray all I am, all I may ever be, can be found in the hearts of those I have loved.
And who have dared to love me. As in the times of the ancient mariner we all hear the call of sirens that gesture us to sail home. Continuity of purpose flows from the wellspring of our lives. In the end we all find we are drawn inexorably home, to the hearth from around which we told our tales of long ago and spun our yarns of a life well lived. The well spent life will always beckon from the winds of change a call for home.
And who have dared to love me. As in the times of the ancient mariner we all hear the call of sirens that gesture us to sail home. Continuity of purpose flows from the wellspring of our lives. In the end we all find we are drawn inexorably home, to the hearth from around which we told our tales of long ago and spun our yarns of a life well lived. The well spent life will always beckon from the winds of change a call for home.
