Wrecked

[Jim Scott]

Wrecked

He’s dreaming of the shore that he’ll never see once more
And lamenting now his fate so cruelly tossed.
He never thought that life could go so fast,
The shadows of the past are merely all the ghosts of what he’s lost.
He used to run so free when he sailed upon the sea
Never knowing of the ports to which he’d call.
Adventure borne on every southern gale
Which filled his vagrant sail to take him every place and see it all.

And love he surely knew, whether false or whether true,
From as many girls as he’d seen distant lands.
But now his eyes look back toward the truth,
So hidden in his youth, and tears flow as he quietly understands.
He chose to sail alone, now he’s stranded on his own
With no other soul with whom he might grow old.
He should have settled down and made a home,
But chose instead to roam in search of what adventure’s path might hold.

His journeys ended here where the waters run so clear,
And tomorrow’s been decided by the past.
He didn’t feel the turning of the tide,
Nor knew the sea might hide the dangers where his future’s now been cast.
He’s grounded high and dry, as the ebbing tide flows by,
In a distant land he’d tried so hard to find.
He wished now that he chose the other tack
That would have sailed him back to places he now yearns for in his mind.

His keel’s been broke in two. He’s no strength to build anew
And he hasn’t got the spirit, nor the heart.
He’s only got the memory of what’s gone.
He wants to carry on, but doesn’t see at his age how to start.
If only he’d have known of the pains from being alone
When the wind drove him upon this leeward shore,
He never would have set that wayward track
That never took him back to where he thought of settling down before.

And dreaming of that isle brings a melancholy smile
As he thinks of all the happiness he lost.
That lass he’d left there waving from the sand
With flowers in her hand. This empty soul his wanderlust has cost.
He turns to let the spray wash his bitter tears away
As he curses loud the calling of the sea.
His fists are clenched in anger at the thought
Of life so come to naught. Of prison made from striving to be free.

He stares upon the waves and imagines there the graves
Of his fellow sailors similarly cast.
He puts another bottle to his lips
And while he quietly sips, the present seems to blur into the past.
And once the bottle’s drained he has youth and heart regained
And forgotten all the sadness of before.
He’s running free again before the breeze
And challenging the seas to carry him away from memory’s shore.

While stumbling to stand with the bottle in his hand
He is hoisting every sail his dreams can find.
He sees the dolphins phosphorescent trail
Beside the leeward rail. The alcohol, this time is being kind.
And sailing to the shore that he’ll never see once more
He is laughing at his fate so strangely tossed.
Reality could never live this fast,
Through shadows of the past, and wasted opportunities now lost.
His mind is running free as it sails the open sea
Never knowing of the ports to which he’ll call.
A memory on every southern gale
Which filled his younger sail, to take him every place and see it all.

………….A memory on every southern gale…………
But now those winds must fail………….
There’s no more dreams to sail ………
…………..He’s dreamed them all.

www.caridiangroup.com.

[Keith at Tregenna]

Will get addressed for not just not pressing the like button, but did and added thanks, your stuff deserves a little more, much actually. TA K. Will add similar to other post's, but will if knocked, add something like massive, cool, right on, respect. If that needs to occur, message was from me. K.

[Jim Scott]

Thanks Keith. I actually started writing poetry while an apprentice inn my teens. It was pretty crappy stuff back then but I've stuck with it these last 40 odd years and now I quite like what I can do. After pressure to do so I've started publishing my writings but wonder if that wasn't a bit arrogant of me when I look at all the great poets that are out there. But hey, I'm no spring chicken any more and if I can earn a few extra pints through my dotage by doing the odd reading and selling the odd book, then why not? Plus I like the nostalgia that goes with it that takes me back to my sea days. I'll stick a couple more up this evening but have to face the evening commute from the office (yup ... sailing a desk these days) so it'll be an hour or more before that will happen. Thanks again for your comments Keith.... Such as they make the effort worth while. Cheers. Jim.