Afternoon. Oftentimes I dream of the high seas. I am an adventurous spirit, an ambitious man. I sometimes forget how easy it is, how common it is, to be lost at sea. To be lost and never find your way again in that wide blue expanse. I grew up on stories of the Bermuda Triangle, Amelia Earhart, Captain Cook, etc. Adventurers and pioneers and even just regular old people losing their way and never being found again. What adventures they had. Having been lost myself, albeit in a more metaphorical sense, I have come to appreciate the ones who got lost even moreso. They take a path we don’t need to. Trailblazers one and all. Some day I think all those lost ones will be found again. No one is ever truly lost forever. Only waiting to be found.
Sacred Isle
Castaway
Shorn, torn apart and scorned
Tatters and rags
Beggars and dregs
Richest man on the island
Though the poorest so too
See how the stars aline
Blood omens line the sky
So allein, a sign!
Hoping to yourself it’s not a lie
Hereafter, maybe a beer after?
Hearing echoes in your laughter
Of your laughter
Bats and bugs hang from the rafter
Fair seas and fair winds
They’ve gone rusty, all your tins
Your hair’s getting long, friend
“Who’s speaking? Who’s that?”
“Oh.”
Just my head again
Little bug, little bug
How you run away…
Poems by Sam 