I ran with the crowd, chasing numbers and names, But somewhere my heartbeat lost its flame. In the wind of the docks, I heard the sound, Of iron singing where the sea meets ground. No reason, no plan, just the pull of the tide, A ghost in the echo of steel I couldn't hide. The old shipyard whispered in salt and rust, "Not everything you follow must be just."She came like silence in a tailored form, Soft as a prayer, yet quietly warm. "You don’t need a reason to stay," she said, And words that once cut, now blessed instead. In her gaze, I saw the unseen, The ship I drew, the boy I’d been. Not to conquer, not to win, But to breathe the wind my kin had been in.My grandpa’s hands—fire and ash, Hammering time with a sacred clash. I moved before I understood, Tied the ropes, worked the wood. The sea forgives what science doubts, And holds up weight our minds cast out. In every weld, a wordless prayer, That says, "You’re not alone out there."Why does iron float and fear not drown? Why does silence speak in this old town? We don’t inherit just tools and trade— We inherit songs the winds have played. I draw lines that may never be known, But still they guide me, like stars once shone. The blueprint’s blurry, the answers few— But I build what I was born to do.Don’t measure—feel. Don’t rush—be still. Don’t explain—kneel. Not all prayers wear names or robes— Some are forged in salt and coals. When the wind returns, so too the word, In the hum of hulls and the cry of birds. Let the steel remember. Let the tide forgive. Let the ship you draw… learn to live.
