From a distant place
Your echo reaches me here
At this length
Like a drum in my ears
Your memory kiss reverberates
And shakes my very soul of souls
Creating in me a sound of old
Which slowly fades
And with anticipation
Waits
To hear the breath of all which once was told
Next yours my present face

Desire of being
Give me your name
And a photo to match so that I can see past
The flatness of this absent meaning
Give unto me
Please
Be

A 1,000 sailors have nothing against a few well groomed tailors
However a rich man could not last a second in a pile of quick sand
The call to sea is the same as that of a call to a tree
They are both living and dead, Their growth is the giving bread
One serves their master at the bay, the other spends time selling hay
The water is fresh in both cases and both men have seen many faces
A sailor never retires, but a tailor does as such
For when he is no longer a tailor, he considers himself a failure
Yet he continues on, looking for a cause, never taking a pause
Until one day, walking by the shore he sees something so beautiful his eye begin to sore
So he takes his riches, buys a ship, summons a crew, and plans his trip
Heading to nowhere in sight, only to see the beauty so bright
And so the man was once a tailor, he is now a sailor