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.
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