With the tide running wide and the sun on my side,
I set my course where the trade winds guide.
Stories wait where the oceans collide —
Following the equator, on a wind-blown ride.
The map was worn, its edges frayed,
A compass spun where the answers swayed.
I chased the wind where the trade stars glow,
Left behind what I thought I'd know.
A deck of cards and a half-filled flask,
Each island I passed wore a different mask.
Tales ran wild in a rum-soaked bar,
Under constellations not seen from afar.
Following the equator, chasing the sun,
Stories half-finished, and some just begun.
Pages curling in the island steam,
Ink flows like tides through a sailor's dream.
Every port a puzzle, every tide a clue,
Truth wears a mask in shades of blue.
I'm just a sailor with a pen for a sail,
Riding the wind on a wandering trail.
Met a mystic in Mauritius rain,
Eyes like dawn, smile champagne.
She read my fate in a cup of tea,
Said, "The thing you seek will never be free."
In Bombay's gold and Zanzibar nights,
Drums beat wild 'neath silver light.
Spice in the air, moon on the mast,
Trying to make each sunset last.
Following the equator, chasing the sun,
Stories half-finished, and some just begun.
Pages curling in the island steam,
Ink flows like tides through a sailor's dream.
Every port a puzzle, every tide a clue,
Truth wears a mask in shades of blue.
I'm just a sailor with a pen for a sail,
Riding the wind on a wandering trail.
Somewhere between the calm and storm,
I lost myself, a new one formed.
Love was a harbor I couldn't stay in,
The tide pulled me back to the open wind.
There's peace when you let the anchor go,
And truth only drifters know.
Now the years are strung like harbor lights,
Flickering truth in tropic nights.
My face is weathered, my ink runs thin,
But I'd still cast off and chase the wind.
One last tale on a creaking bow,
Where time is later and never is now.
Following the equator, chasing the sun,
Stories half-finished, and some just begun.
Pages curling in the island steam,
Ink flows like tides through a sailor's dream.
Every port a puzzle, every tide a clue,
Truth wears a mask in shades of blue.
I'm just a sailor with a pen for a sail,
Riding the wind on a wandering trail.
If you find my journal washed ashore,
Know I lived, and wanted more.
No compass needed where I've been —
Just chasing truth through island wind.