These ships are sailing
Leaving behind everything we’ve ever known.
The lights, the familiar sights are receding,
Departures sadness as the horizon
Hides us from home.
These boats,
These boats we are burning.
For these bones will not be buried
Beneath the turf of our island home.
The surf and the waves
And the storms on the seas,
And the funnel cloud of infernal steam.
Take me away,
Borne away from where I long to be.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 23 January 2018
Made of sticks and stones 
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
For 8 November we have a poem about new starts and the lives and people we leave behind.
LikeLike