Art, Pen

By The Bay

There is a boat by the bay,
and winds are whirling and calling me,
to unhook the mast and let the sails free.

But I’m not ready yet, I doubt,
that I ever will be.
For the shadows of storms
stomp my courage, my uprooted past.

Till then, let me stay on grounds,
with people with hearts of ashes,
and faces of clay.
When I’m fed up again, with unfairness
and misery,
I will return to face death,
To fill crystals with life again.

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