Voyager

My youth was like a treasure map in finest detail drawn, experiences marker buoys, of perils would they warn. Islands of opportunity places I dreamt of most all littered with ambition scattered flotsam on the coast. Routes were laid and lines were drawn all set in black and white, the course into my future set the outlook seeming bright. But time and circumstance swept in before I had made sail and tore the rigging from the yards the voyage doomed to fail. The plans I made are ragged like the mizzen on the mast optimism's caulking gone though it was meant to last. So take me to the harbour and push me out to sea let me be blown by winds of fate to what will be will be.