Soul Of A Sailor

Soul of a Sailor

Dedicated to all the sailors. How they embrace the sea, how they seek belongingness being far away from where they belong.

Who is a sailor, who does he befriend, what is the sea to him, and with her does he blend? 

A robinhood pirate, incessantly craving love, a divine sea man, or a plaintive dove?

The coast, the placid breeze, the smell of morning water...just what carries him through.

And in her arms he sails onto, far far away and further...just where does he belong, can someone tell me too.

I see a man, who 'finites' the infinite, to many transparent, yet he isn't what the waters define.

A driftwood psyche, and so he fades away, a yet to be composed lyric, he brings red embers to stay.

Says time won't fly like flashes on a stream, says a vivid mystic charm keeps me warm inside.

Says am nothing more than just being fine, yeah I am nothing more than just being fine.

For belongingness is not just a word, it is the soul of a sailor that no one has ever heard.

Can you tie a tide, then how come me, I'm a reflection of a drop, a siren tribute to all the sea.

 

Donning shell cyan, a semblance of rain, he wears the depth, and a salt water remain.

His only friend, laden with techno grain, an orange submarine, with a tall pillared mane.

What's a summer, do I assemble when autumn comes, am I the carrier of the spring winds, does winter give me the numbs?

Chambers of boundaries, do I have a boundless heart, you miss me, but do you know I miss far, far more than that?

These hundred and eighty three days are the pages of his book, unwritten, unseen, and one by one he flips.

On some he pens, on few he grooves, on a couple he jolts, and on loads he drips.

A quench, a thirst, known only to the man of the bay, can never reach beyond the sand.

Four thousand plus hours, that seem far long gone, are to whisper his silent time spanned.

For belongingness is not just a word, it is the soul of a sailor that no one has ever heard.

Can you tie a tide, then how come me, I'm a reflection of a drop, a siren tribute to all the sea.

 

Close your eyes, to see him open his, how the dawning sun tickles a twinkle in his eye.

While we rush, and fast is the only known, he has only to wake up in the arms of the sky.

A minute is a minute, maybe even a tad more, times tell tales, and not the other way around.

While we choose lanes, fervent and aimless, he has only the vast infinity in abound.

Says clock ticks in shifts here, I work like am at peace, with night I play serenade, with noon I play hide and seek.

Low and behold, so many ships are around, with still waters that run deep, does isolation crawl like an island ground?

He fends for the basics, and gets lost to be found, he gathers eternity in an aqua bowl.

Sipping serenity he satiates on slow, he exhales tranquility, to explore the untold.

For belongingness is not just a word, it is the soul of a sailor that no one has ever heard.

Can you tie a tide, then how come me, I'm a reflection of a drop, a siren tribute to all the sea.

 

He asks in dismay, do we fathom the distance, in yards or memoirs left drawn behind?

Who am I really, an enigma that unfurls, a son to the sea, or a progress in rewind?

A soul of a sailor, he asks you to imagine, is a shelter that words would not explain.

A soul of a sailor, goes anywhere it wants to, is a sea stitched sequin on a nautical reign.

Sensitive, sound, and oh so very delicate, a 60's Cadillac with a Veyron gear.

Like an empty bottle, or a sinner profound, finding his strength as if from nowhere.

That who I am, that what is my soul, my inner most feelings, how my thoughts unroll.

Who is a sailor, and where does he pause, just no one can tell, and so because.

Belongingness is not just a word, it is the soul of a sailor that no one has ever heard.

Can you tie a tide, then how come me, I'm a reflection of a drop, a siren tribute to all the sea.