I often feel like a ghost ship being buffeted by angry seas,
A once rugged sturdy galleon who’d seek shelter in the quays.
But sometimes there’s no option but to face the swell head-on,
And hope your ship is strong enough to weather all that’s wrong.
As you ride the peaks and troughs, your wish to be becalmed,
Is challenged by the weakening ship and continued threats of harm.
Till one day you find yourself a hollow, haunted boat,
That once courageous galleon is now struggling to stay afloat.
With communication fading and hopes of salvage lost,
Eyes are raised ‘a skyward, fingers and chests crossed.
All that seemed familiar, drowned in seas of grey,
That ghost ship slowly sinking, a wreck of future days.
