The Foreign Land

And thus I see the Distant boat pass, Smiling faces waving this land away, Sailing to their warm homes tonight, As I look on, here standing alone. Tales perhaps, of the distant land, They say, with a slight smirk, There lives one's childhood, Waiting for an embrace. I for one, declare them heresay, Whether as true as the blue in the sky, For hope seems to be a venom, A catalyst of a slow agonising death. That's the only comfort I have, For the distant ship sails on, Leaving me stranded on the docks, Of this distant foreign land. The sea looks on forward, Refusing to lock her eyes onto me, Maybe ashamed of her great betrayal, Maybe remorseful of her trust on this land.