The Raft

A raft on the surface of serenity,

Pristine be its journey,
Leaving little room for levity.

Palms, going overboard,
Reaching for the sea;
As the breeze stokes,
Waters too far to crest into waves.

Blue meets the eye,
Be it the ocean below,
Or the skies above;
Synchronized, to the point,
Where they are left undifferentiated.

Such sights inspire many a rhyme,
Sapphire muses in the day,
Owing to the blues of seas and skies,
And ebony by night.

But, all the raft’s voyager, seek,
Is escape.

The ocean, need not ask,
For forgiveness.
It hosted, the voyager as guest,
Not captive.

And the voyager was fed,
By the oceans many children.
His thirst was quenched,
By the heavens themselves.

He also was introduced,
To many an island.
These paradises,
Were promises kept,
Not to be mistaken for,
The deserts mirage.
But, he did not get off,
His raft.

He curses the seas,
But remains its permanent voyager.
He desires nothing but escape
But rebukes its goodbyes.

The oceans and its seas,
All get a wretched name,
While the voyager,
Remain, stubbornly miserable,
All the same.

(Picture Sourced Externally)

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