Transatlantic
Horizon hums in weary blue,
A breath between the old and new.
Wooden ribs and salted sails,
Carve their oaths through weeping gales.
The ocean whispers, pulls, deceives,
It rocks, it cradles, then it grieves.
A lullaby of loss untold,
A debt in bones, a fate unsold.
History’s hands, both rough and kind,
Trace the tides yet leave no sign.
Each crest, each fall, a broken vow,
A sea that sways, yet won’t allow.
The waves recall, the waters weep,
Their buried names still haunt the deep.
A breath between the old and new.
Wooden ribs and salted sails,
Carve their oaths through weeping gales.
The ocean whispers, pulls, deceives,
It rocks, it cradles, then it grieves.
A lullaby of loss untold,
A debt in bones, a fate unsold.
History’s hands, both rough and kind,
Trace the tides yet leave no sign.
Each crest, each fall, a broken vow,
A sea that sways, yet won’t allow.
The waves recall, the waters weep,
Their buried names still haunt the deep.
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Background: The echoes of history, displacement, and the cost of progress. The ocean serves as a metaphor for forgotten stories specifically, the transatlantic slave trade and forced migrations. It is both a giver and taker, a pathway to new worlds and a graveyard of old ones. The waves carry unspoken truths, and though the past sinks, it is never truly lost.
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