A Sailor’s Bitter Draft

Chasing lines on a weathered chart,

Counting degrees while the days go gray.

Between the salt, the grind, and the neon heart,

I threw the best of my years away.

I love you, sure—but the clock’s run out,

I’m a lifer now, bound to the swell.

Nursing a hate for the life I chose,

With only the ghost behind the bar to tell.

If you could flip through the frames of my time,

You’d find me stalled in some dockside rain,

Asking the gale where the hell you’d gone,

While I traded my soul for a rusted chain.

Maybe back then, in a different world,

We had a porch and a place to go.

But in this one, darling, just hold the line—

Don’t let me drift. Don’t let me go.

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Excerpt from the book "Tales of a Greek Sailor"

An experiential journey across the deep blue

Poetic work // No. 254 // email: pmataragas@yahoo.com

Texts and Narration: Panayotis V. Mataragas – ROTTERDAM

Language Adjustments and Text Adaptation: Kellene G. Safis – CHICAGO

Digital Editing & Text Formatting: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga – PIRAEUS

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Tales of a Greek Sailor