118. Privateer’s Lament

Every time I see the sea I 
Stop
and think of her;
A problem when your destiny’s
to be a Captain of the free.
All the while 
You are bound
To vessels made of wood and flesh.
Provisions?
Depleted.
Desire and duty always thresh;
Once the wheat
Once the scythe
And sometimes both the same at night
When nothing’s seen but stars and dreams
and sea, stuck in-between
is where I lost the one I love
amid plundered ports of nothing more
than faulty hearts not fit to
Sail.
Still I sail.
Sailing on through darkest dawn,
the kind of dawn for every morn
left for those who’re left by those
once in command.
But not no more.
So on I go, a Privateer
aboard my faithless frigate grim
until the Tempest catches up
finally
and drowns me once for all.