Sitting at the docks is a sullen scene,
Watching the sailors in their drunken gleam,
They traverse the seas in search of gold,
To show discontent, no man is so bold.

But beyond the reins of man’s two eyes,
Lies hidden turmoil beyond their disguise,
Hoping, praying to come back again,
Before leaving their children, wives, and fellow men.

Every day on the sea a storm is brewing,
With loneliness and pain constantly renewing,
Hoping for the eye of the storm is all they can do,
Before the afflictions of the sea finally accrue.

For they know what lies in the eye of the storm,
Solitude, sadness, and nothing warm,
But the promise of gold keeps them from the shore,
They know the risks, as they have been there before.

Sailors do not show pain on their faces,
Dare they let go of their graces,
Eventually they become numb to feeling,
Because speaking out in unappealing.

So once a month when they return to their home,
A light turns on in their little dome,
When they see the faces they missed so much,
And held the hands that they loved to touch.

Rejoicing, jumping, that their prayers were met,
They had gambled, but had won this bet.
Finally at the their loved ones sight,
Emotions are finally set right.

But as one ship comes in, one ship goes out,
As one child praises, another child pouts,
Asking the question of the truly devout,
Why do you continue this dreadful cycle?

With each departure complete,
The sailors will to hope does deplete,
And with a successful return,
Love again, the sailors learn.

Sitting at the docks is a sullen scene,
You see men slowly whisk away as blue skies turn green,
And if you look into the eye of the storm,
You’ll see that all they want is something warm.