The sails are waiting for the sky at night –
The sailor’s dreams find comfort in the sun,
Who paints its canvas pink (to his delight)
And sings the songs foretelling what’s to come.
But no such Sun predicts my own waves’ tide –
No color comforts me or warns my sky.
I’m left a sailor, blind, to stay or hide
From storms I fear, and pain that they imply.
If I were brave, I’d set sail anyway.
I’d turn my sails to catch the unknown wind.
But am I brave? That’s not for me to say.
For time will tell if I or waves rescind.
So through this storm or through this sunset sail,
For either way I’ve come too far to fail.