At quiet hours, by faint and waning light,
I pore over the days’ as yet naught done.
Upon the drifting darkness of the night,
Lest not the light of day may end my run.
And noisy is my cabin; rather loud
With rigging’s clatterbangs against the hull.
I have charted plenty, and compass bowed;
The map, like windbound sails, is plenty full.
But, no sloop am I aboard in course a’set,
As this vessel roars for journey anew,
And so on this ship, one must not forget,
‘Tis a journey best a’lit by the crew.
Though self may seem a droplet in the sea,
Know the downpour ripples beyond the quay.
Tag: travel
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The Cartographer
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An Ode to Belgrade
By the Belgrade streets, where two rivers meet,
The Danube and Sava bite ancient stones.
Where nights cast longer days, escaping heat,
The city beats of sultans, kings, and thrones.
Where Unity's firesteel forged Balkan lands,
Its fortress stands; a sentinel of time.
Sovereigns guarded many tales so grand,
Hard fought among many an empire's climb.
But, cobbled streets fill paths that we can roam
While mysteries still pass beneath my view.
I wish I could have known the Roman tome
That marked “White City” before Red and Blue.
I learned in Belgrade: history is made.
And I, a student, in its shadow’s shade.