Back To The Blue (Poetry)

There are times I want to sail alone —
be helmsman, oarsman, nightwatch at the wheel —
cast off from the safe harbour I call home —
be solitary — plot my course and own
whatever stars look down — I need to feel
I’m master of my destiny and make
one final effort — for the journey’s sake.

My life’s a small boat tethered to the shore —
it’s leaky, too, and needs an overhaul —
re-named, re-painted many times before
it rocks in sleep — half-hears the ocean’s roar
mingling with a siren’s distant call —
she’s singing soft and yet it echoes through —
this captain’s old — these eyes see grey not blue...

Past winter’s fog I glimpse a hazy sun
that glints on water like a lure far-thrown
to tempt me launch a bold and reckless run —
toss caution to the wind — ignore the one
nagging voice — its cool reproachful tone
at odds with how the stubborn spirit burns —
gone deaf to protest — dreaming as it yearns...