Voyager

Little
Deaths
Chart
Our
Course
Between
Islands
Of
Remorse,
Over
Seas
Meant
To
Appease
A
Weary
Sailor’s
Woe,
As
We
Endlessly
Row.
Vagrant
Winds
Fail
To
Fill
Our
Sail
And
Time
Moves
Slow,
But
On
We
Go,
Ever
Toward
That
Promised
Land
Where
We
May
Possibly
Understand
Life’s
Link,
Or
Becalmed,
Sink
Like
A
Stone,
Completely
Unknown.