Poetry

The sea: illuminated by
The sun, was a queer shade of gold.
My eyes fought to adjust as, wave
By wave the ship began to fly:
Its hard hull heckling the shoals
Of fish dancing on the wet pave.
 
The map I lay before me then
Showed patches of land hiding
Amidst pockets of blue. And, once
I saw my aim, I took my pen
And drew a circle surrounding
My island, and sat in silence.
 
The hands of the clock chose to hide
Behind one another. The hour
Was late, and once busy decks then
Became ghost lands. Like Jekyll to Hyde,
I gathered my things, and turned sour.
The homesick explorer, caught amongst seamen.