And again I find myself sailing
Via bus, through tarmac seas
Unto busy islands where the
Old and the young stand alike
Waiting to board their boats.
We are marooned, a technicality,
So far from our ports
Thanks to the ebb and flow of
Metallic water currently as still
As the night sea.
If only one could cast away,
Swim with aplomb through
These hardened capillaries and
Reach an equilibrium twixt
Us and the steerage then
Maybe we would all attain medals.