Value and the Deep Blue Sea

The water is still. A bare hint of wind.
You kiss her before you set out,
old enough to know nothing is certain.
Not your return. Not hers.
The sea is a fickle place
and nothing can be taken for granted.

It is a hard lesson to learn and the truth is
you would rather still have your innocence
than the wisdom to know the value
of time, love and the brushing of lips.

About this poem.

About seafaring. About life. About the fragility of love. Poetry is never about one thing.

Tom