you can find me at the shore line,
always watching the lighthouse call in the lost ships,
waiting, searching for a lighthouse of my own.
tides stir and shake me,
the rain batters my boards and tears my sails,
the currents sweep me off beyond my control.
i have stayed at too many ports,
been to too many markets,
met too many sea scum,
all without finding any gold.
all i have is my parrot, Polly, to talk to,
always squawking my repeating thoughts,
my mind is my only companion.
if i were to fall over board,
id be the only one to through a line,
i walk my own plank at my own gun's point.
i can remember, i once had a compass.
it was silver with a gold trI'mming,
and said "beyond the edge" on the inner face.
am i heading north?
i can only hope.
i sit high on the mast,
or low on the shore,
watching lighthouses call their lovers home,
wondering if anyone will ever call me.
Polly always says that I'm wasting my tI'me.