Drawing from an ancient well,
barely wetting the poor old bucket.
Seas of plenty and yet evaporated,
the hand with sand is taking its toll.

The day alike, what is a week,
spinning world, it's all the same.
It was a weekend, or so it seemed,
another day, what's in a name.

Take it, leave it, do as pleased,
honestly, it will not change.
Singular in a world of plural,
ask when, not if, I will derange.

Outward bound, red to right,
lightships bells in dusty drizzle.
Port to port exchanging honors,
leads the way away of grizzle.

Sails to dragons at the canvas,
stops at Isles for short embracing.
Connecting dots just tell a tale,
a vain small effort of merely tracing.

Whatever lies within these faded thoughts,
candle lit in a hidden room.
Does not embodies perspective action,
is not the solving spicy fume.

To end this internal foggy journey,
from whitty waters I should refrain.
Dodging breakers, keeping leeway,
slapping second in the main.

Slowly regaining secret forces,
charging battery cells at pace.
Putting memories to rest,
with the headsail backed, I now heave to.

I find strength in Hannah’s lesson,
can start anew, and so can you.
With eyes on waypoint and suited crew,
the only challenge is to find the route.

R.Holmes 2020