A paper boat to an open sea
A world still separating you and me
I wish you could join me here
And sit with me on this pier
We don't have to talk or think
Just watch the sun as it sinks
To where all good must one day go
To a place nobody seems to know
That's where I go, I hope you do too
Until then, I will sit and wait for you

Despite our sundry transportations, trains and planes,
I don't believe us to really be voyagers;
The years, months, ticks and tocks that come and go in vain,
Like Ulysses at sea, they're the real wanderers.

Doomed to drift on water, timeless, yet growing old,
Aye, never setting anchor, always setting sail
To the end of th'endless river, where lies fool's gold.
That's all the future is; just Melville's ***** whale.

When the boat is languid, we ask it to go faster,
When the boat is lively, we implore it to stop;
The ship capsizes, it had too many masters
But just go with the flow and it'll stay on top.

We couldn't captain a tiny rubber dinghy,
Time's the real pioneer, and we her passengers.

I long for the times
When we were kept afloat
By rushing jokes and waves of laughter,
But fractures appeared in strained conversations
And our unspoken words.
Now we cling to the wreckage of our once beautiful friendship
Desperately trying to stay adrift,
But I fear the water flooded my lungs years ago.

Blue is not sure where to find the propeller.
The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves
break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist.

The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks,
and the seagulls peck at our eyes.
Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men
wander onto the sand and get coated,
as in cornmeal,
ready to fry.

Infatuated and floundering
they wander
to water again.
Drinking death hand over fist,
they ring themselves out with simply a twist.
The fish flap their fins so forcefully;
trying to
be flying to
a sea called the sky.

With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”,
but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration
for fishes whose function
is on boats, wrapped up
in those silly greatcoats.
Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame.

If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.

I only have this
Heart of mine.

Absentminded hands
Rip me part by part.

The pieces are the sand
Beneath my feet.

My tears are the waves
Kissing the shore
Putting them back together.

The thunder is rumbling
In the backyard.

The rain is pouring down
On my soul.

I grab the keys
And put this car in drive
To the water.

I set sail across the ocean.
Tearing these rough seas
On my own.

A sailor.
A compass.
A steerin wheel.

Destenation: home.

I once set sail to a shipwreck and no one’s heard back from me yet.

Whether or not this storm can be weathered, my torn sails and bruised masts will be seen fighting the futile.
And whether or not I can come back from this, I won’t dock at familiar shores for a while.

This salty shame-filled seawater may as well be the blood that flows so reluctantly through my veins because inside it all feels the same and at least then I could give the ocean some of this blame.

I’m still made of rotten wood and rusted nails,
I just got better at sinking.

But I’m tired of throwing buckets of salt water over my head hoping I don’t slip,
So maybe I’ll take a break from going down with the ship.

So maybe I can take note from the tide and change.
Because I'm so ******* tired of trying to figure out how I wound up on this page.

Blame it on bad luck, blame it on love, blame it on god,  blame it on the price of a new heart, blame it on a bad start, blame it on the ******* weather,
But even as the water rises, I can still hear the echoing lament of a would-be sailor,
“I swear I can be better.”

Floating on a grand barge,
Watch the man that’s in charge,
Pride and power in his voice.
The hammock gently swings,
Swaying in the wind,
Was this your final choice?

The animals are creating noise,
Barge-hands who look like boys,
The current’s getting stronger.
Flies settle on your damp chest,
Is this some sort of regal test,
Close your eyes a moment,

Just listen to the breeze.

You’re here, it’s here
They are, all here,
No one really cares.
Dream of a storm, can you hear?
There is no need for you to fear
Fingers on the rippling surface,
Drops like tears
You know now that it’s too near,
The diamond sky is just too clear.
Watching the shore fade, hear the cheers

You’re leaving dear.