I am an old pirate; I’m sailing alone.
My treasure, long buried, where once was my home.
My battles, no longer, just storms on the sea;
With my head ‘bove the water, tryin’ to keep hold of me:
‘Nother notch on the old willow tree.

The sirens are singing, they’re summoning time;
Red warnings at sunset caution life is no rhyme.
The angels are absent and I haven’t the grace.
Give me hell, it’s a merrier place;
I’ve lost, yet not started the race.

I remember the dances, when you held me tight;
And whispered sweet nothings all through our night.
I remember your smile, ‘cross the table from me,
Holding hands o’er the roadmaps where we could run free;
In the air of the magnolia tree.

Now, you look to the desert—barren and dry.
And the waters we sailed on, fall from my eyes.
You walk ‘way with the promise I’ll see you again,
But that promise will never begin,
It can’t with no game in our skin.

Still, I’ve lived long enough to know I will sail on;
Seeking ports from the storm where heartache is gone.
To know laughter and love’s one more time within reach;
With my letters in bottles, I’d warmly beseech,
Let your answers tenderly teach.

Will, you hold me in snowstorms be my warm pair of socks?
And kiss me like rivers splashing down from the rocks?
Share with me stories that dovetail with mine;
Where stars greet God’s life of Alpine:
Yes, new love is always divine

So blow me down Matey, my story’s now told.
It’s the story of eons for young and the old.
And its lessons, like trade winds, will journey me on;
While the sky writes new stories beyond;
And the last constellation is gone. 

Top photo: Bigstock