Story 20 // Following the Horizon (Poem)

It's ridiculous but sad, isn't it?
Those memories of a care free time,
when responsibility seemed miles away,
like the horizon, drifting ever constantly away from you.

I remember that feeling,
but is it even accurate?
The good memories are always easier to remember...

You always have to keep going,
pushing on to the next phase,
sailing onward into another sunset.

There are storms you have to go through,
the first ones I remember vividly,
as being dark,
murky, foggy.

They were scary, I shook from head to toe.
I remember thinking this was it,
the end of me,
my little boat wouldn't make it through the night.

But, then, as dawn broke across the ocean,
the seas calmed,
the wind whistled gently once again,
and I knew I had changed.

Some of these storms make me a better person,
others are petty, stupid, frivolous.
But each one teaches me a lesson.

As I drift I wonder every once in a while where I'm going.
Oh how I'd be so grateful for a map.
I've spent too much time looking for one,
searching for some guidance on this journey.

Just where is my boat headed?
Why am I needing to go this direction?
What will happen when I finally get there?
Can I even make it there in time?

Don't think about it too much, people say.
You'll go mad, they warn.
(Sometimes I think that wouldn't be all that bad.)

Ah, to be a mad man,
the bliss of the carefree,
yet not the childlike kind acceptable to others.

I would be locked away.
No keys but padded walls,
that destination is not for me.

Some nights the seas rock my hammock.
The sickness makes it impossible,
so I escape into the abyss behind my eyelids.

After a while the storms don't bother me as much.
I trust my ship to make it through.
After all, it's been through worse.

The weathering my boat has taken,
the scars that cross it's surface,
all tell of tales of past adventures.

Tales of cannon fire,
of times of battle,
and times of sorrow.

Why not refinish my boat, you ask?
Give it a good sanding,
paint it up bright again.

I think about it,
look into it a little,
but to change how it looks would take a part of it away.
And memories can't be sanded down.

I love my boat,
scars and all,
I welcome the questions and stares.

I may never find that map,
and I can't avoid every storm,
but as long as I trust in the horizon,
I know I'm in good hands.