Stefan Mijovic

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On The Ship Of Life

He was the sailor on the ocean of thoughts.
It was deep,
The waters were dirty and
had a certain stench,
Waves high enough to destroy
Yet they had no courage to do a thing.

Clouds were dark and
rain came down his face,
It went over each scar and scratch,
The rough hands and
cracks of the heart.

Sailor tore his muscles,
blood was on the floor
Yet the rows were sure,
As his mind was focused
only one task, one obligation
To go through the ocean,
where he was lost.

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