They come,
They go,
Like ships passing the point of a harbor.
I sit,
Basking in their serenity and beauty,
Wishing their presence to be longer lived,
Only to feel my heart tear as they disappear over the horizon.
Is this fate?
Perhaps it is the fate for some of us,
To be like the master of a harbor.
To invite the passing vessels in,
To offer them respite, repair, and advice on the waters ahead.
To shelter them from the winds that plague their voyage,
That tatter their sails and scorch their slender hulls.
And being a man of the sea,
And a lover of their kind,
Offer every service and courtesy you have,
To treat them as if your own.
To care for them,
To put your love into all that you do for them,
To open your soul to them,
In hopes of becoming a part of theirs.
A remaining desire.
Then the repairs are done,
Their sails are taught and new,
Their decks are clean and rich with color,
And they shine with a radiance that was always there,
Only hidden by the damage of the sea.
Your heart lifts,
As you behold a new splendor,
The fruits of time and soul poured into that which you love most.
And they stay for a time,
Thanking you for what you have done for them,
At least the deeds they can see.
But then, beyond the gates of the harbor,
Calm seas and an inviting horizon,
Are in place of the hard waves and tattering winds,
That once brought them to you.
And like for all those before,
A strong breeze arrives,
Promising a new journey,
A new voyage,
And the riches of a new land yet to be found.
A fate of adventurous souls.
So you watch,
Smiling all the while,
As they sail out anew.
Their lines a little smoother,
There masts a little taller,
You are proud of what you have done.
They reach the horizon,
And your very soul swells with admiration.
They are gone,
You are alone,
Left with only the memory that sustains you.
This is my fate.
——Howard
HighlandWolf 