I have seen the world by sea. Beyond the wondrous rising waves, where monsters, food and mystery alike live in a tempest’s harmony. I have heard the whispers of far off sirens and many more dead man’s screams.
I have seen the wind tear mast and sail leaving panic in its wake, and waters rise as gaping maws to swallow without a trace. But I have also seen the days where wind blew soft and seas stood still, as a mirror to the skies.
And the skies speak as the sea itself, honest to nature and intent. Only the stars truly show the way and the sun which breaks the dark. On we go from day to day from home to far off port.
The world all changes as days go by, but the sea stays the same in its difference. But no matter where one goes by which wind or which wave, the ports are always the same together with their proclamations of difference.
Other sailors call it a curse when wind and current fade and the seas hold captive a ship. Yet more a curse it would indeed be to be stranded in another port. Always the same, having sold its charm and all that made it unique.
A curse to spread to city and village alike. A curse I help carry in my hold. Perhaps I should cast it aboard so this charade might one day end, that each land and port would be its own again and no longer an echo of another’s trade.
But repairs and crew are never free, and my conscience is not at rest. Perhaps I should burn both port and ship to ash to sink far beneath the waves, to become a pirate to pay my dues and end what must be stopped.
Perhaps I might one day, perhaps a day nearer today.