A Sailor's Heart

Eagerness, that wouldn't leave my heart, Now, hits me with regret, The plans of my future, Now, crumbles as pieces of bread. To think of love like roses, A sign of love is but symbolic, For roses are common and love isn't. Life is but a mystery, Leading to dozen of paths, To hardly ever find the only one, Finding or losing yourself at last. Its search is but a voyage in the fathomless sea, Just the sea and the darkness, Left none but thee.