In every story told by 

sailors and seamen 

where perilous walls of water

threaten to swallow them whole,

where rain lashes down like daggers,

and salt spray in the air, crystals decorating their beards.

they grip the wheel tight, hands 

weathered and torn, seeking

for the light that pierces

the dark and reel them to

the wooden dock that guide 

their tired souls to shore.

I remember 

years ago, when I was carefree.

No burdens too heavy, and

no thoughts too convoluted.

Nothing would ever 

scorch my heart aside from a

harsh comment and nothing would ever 

weigh my shoulders down aside from a

heavy fever and nothing would ever 

desolate me aside from  

times when I get lost in the aisles of stores.

But these moments were always 

fleeting. Don’t ever worry, my darling, 

come home to me whenever you feel

scared and lost. I always, and always 

will be, here for you. She would say softly, enveloping

me with warmth. I was always able to

return to my dock when

the ocean got rough. Nothing could ever 

trespass my mother’s comforting arms as she

held me, allowing the crates of

worry to spill away slowly.

Nowadays, troubles cloud my mind as even

passersby strain my brain. I found 

there’s more than just occasional words or 

occasional fevers or occasional losses at stores that

flood your boat’s deck, leaving you

broken and lost.

The waves grow increasingly turbulent as I 

look for my dock. But the sea 

has been shrouded with

a thick layer of fog, and the boat 

drifts astray. When I start to crumble and 

fear the unknown future, I seek 

my dock. But instead of 

her cradling arms, I receive

rambled advice about the future and

bearing life’s burdens.

I’m scared when I move I’ll be alone there 

without you guys, the words tumbled through 

my fingers as I buried my face into 

my hands. I thought you said 

you’d be fine. She stood above me, questioning

my sudden change of heart, a sharp 

gaze of disappointment piercing

through the crevices of the cage

I hid myself in. questioning

my sudden change of heart,

I knew I would be fine, but what I sought was

one last reassuring hug, where she would

squeeze me tight, and assure me

everything will be ok. But,

as she stood, unmoved,

I knew that the lighthouse keeper had 

took out the light, and
I must find my own way back alone.

I wish 

I could go back years ago, where

the dock was still open, and the lighthouse would

guide me to safety, where

I could unload my crates and let my 

tears flow without a care for what the future holds.