Nor anchored in the seas of age,
Flown with the winds that beckon,
Or strewn in the plains of the "could have beens".
Wish not to sail, but if you must, row gently down the little stream of time and space,
Down the waterfall of the forgotten,
Through the foggy woods of limbo and the path of the lost,
Be gentle, no matter the cost.
And if you jump off the porch, in search of something more,
May you find it on the other side of opportunity's door,
And may you be led down a lane of tranquility,
To find peace in all the frivolity.
To drown at sea brings a proud captain,
And to fight overseas brings a proud sergeant,
But the tides of time will sweep such a fleet
Of men who moved their feet to the wrong beat.
Men may march to the beat of war, the calling of violence,
but to continue after their first battle, they remain on the fence.
For once one tastes the horrors of war,
They wish never to return to the warzone,
But home to the couch,
The furniture that holds his souls vouch.
His family sits on it, the dog chews on it, the cat scratches on it,
But the Valkyrie missiles never target it.
The aircraft carrier he sails upon glides over the seas of time,
Docking on shores only on schedule.
Guns at the ready, cannons set to fire,
These seas will swallow the order crier.
And those alongside the moralic liar
Will be engulfed in accurate fire,
Strung from the other side of the battlefield
In the name of ironic names and tyrannous thanes.
And while the fire downfield lay, time does not forget its way.
Even bleeding on the field, men wishing for home, the clock ticks away.
Time has a tricky way of telling you it's your turn,
For all the same, the years and minutes burn.
We learn by the anchors in our seas, and the kites in our skies,
And often time the truth through the most lies,
But if there is one lesson to always be carried,
It is that time flies.
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This poem came to be during my creative writing class a few weeks ago at my high school. I'm currently writing a couple of books and one of them is a self help/memoir piece, and this is a transcript from the fourteenth chapter. The meaning of this piece is this; time waits for no man, so whatever you choose to do in life, do it right and do the right. Be very wise in what you choose to spend your time on, for it is the only currency any of us actually own.