The ocean calls each reckless sailor,
Her voice like honey, dark and deep -
She whispers gold through storm and gale,
A million promises to keep
While the mistress softly sleeps.
When summer burns and timber bends,
When oak meets iron, keel meets wave,
A ship takes shape from fevered dreams:
Hull carved from hunger, mast from hope,
Her canvas sails stretched tight with need.
At last the anchor breaks the foam,
On amber shores the dreamer lands -
Sun-blessed sand or shadowed cove,
Strange harbors, wages wild and sweet -
And the mistress wakes to weep.
For when November's tempest screams,
When desperate men claw toward salvation,
Torn canvas snaps, the vessel groans,
The lady calls the dreamer home
To every promise he must keep.
Yet still the dream devours the dreamer,
And sailors swear like fools again,
Make hollow vows, forget their graves,
While the mistress of the hungry ocean
Croons their names like ancient flame.
So when November howls its rage,
When timbers crack in brine-soaked keeps,
The ocean splits her jaws wide open -
And now it is my turn to drown,
My turn to promise, my turn to keep.
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 6:40 AM UTC
The ocean calls each reckless sailor,
Her voice like honey, dark and deep -
She whispers gold through storm and gale,
A million promises to keep
While the mistress softly sleeps.
When summer burns and timber bends,
When oak meets iron, keel meets wave,
A ship takes shape from fevered dreams:
Hull carved from hunger, mast from hope,
Her canvas sails stretched tight with need.
At last the anchor breaks the foam,
On amber shores the dreamer lands -
Sun-blessed sand or shadowed cove,
Strange harbors, wages wild and sweet -
And the mistress wakes to weep.
For when November's tempest screams,
When desperate men claw toward salvation,
Torn canvas snaps, the vessel groans,
The lady calls the dreamer home
To every promise he must keep.
Yet still the dream devours the dreamer,
And sailors swear like fools again,
Make hollow vows, forget their graves,
While the mistress of the hungry ocean
Croons their names like ancient flame.
So when November howls its rage,
When timbers crack in brine-soaked keeps,
The ocean splits her jaws wide open -
And now it is my turn to drown,
My turn to promise, my turn to keep.