Sail

Moving this anchor across new shores

For the first time this isn't a chore

The chains, the sand, the fresh rust

And I cannot resist the wind gusts

My skin burns, my mind races

Through all those näive faces

I hated the seas, but I rather go

Move alone, far from the shore

I'd be gone and maybe they will forget

Peacefully so, I'd be an old regret 

They'd find a reason, they'd hate me more

Perhaps I am selfish, perhaps just bored

-Al