A blurry whirl of days pass by.

From port to port it drifts,

this sad old ship,

anchor never dropping.  

Sails unfurl and hopes rise,

but time and time again,

the port refuses the ship a slip.

Turning once again,

pointed out to sea.

The weary ship,

 pushes through its watery,

living grave.

Nary a port offers safe harbor.

The anchor chain is rusted in place

and has never been in the sea.

A vessel adrift,

in the seas of life,

each day torn,

by turmoil and strife.

Cast adrift from moorings that refuse it,

the ship struggles through it's life.

Another harbor lurks on the horizon,

somewhere beyond sight.

The ship valiantly tries to fix it's

eyes on the horizon and to shelter it's cargo,

beneath pitching and rolling decks.

A tumultuous sea,

tosses the ship to and fro,

aging timbers creak and groan.

Sails flap angrily,

in the stiffening breeze.

Harsh winds overtake it,

the ship fights for life;

fiercely struggling to stay afloat,

not to let the seas suffocate it.

Turning into the wind,

the ship braces against the storm.

Wearily searching on the horizon,

for safe harbor from the storm.

A port appears in the evening mist

and the ship turns to run for safety.

Easing into the port,

the ship drops it's sails

and slows in search of a place to

drop it's anchor.

Never to hear the anchor's splash,

the ship is turned away.

Once again it eases out to sea

and rotting sails unfurl.  

Waters slide easily under the hull,

life goes slowly by.

Adrift without safe haven,

a sad old ship am I.

©2006 J.L. Day