There was a time when words flowed freely, which I have taken for granted. And yet in those moments, I was keenly aware that the words that were pouring onto paper came to fast to be my own.
The following was inspired by a man met in a town called Franz Josef. He goes by the name Justin.
we went tramping round
down the south Island
rode waves of christ church
of a solid kind
westward bound
no longer means pacific sun
rain came down
as ice on the move was found
It slid by oh so fast
we almost missed its passenger
a man behind a beard
a smile sheltered from the weather
he showed us what kept him safe
a forgotten sanctuary of sorts
seen only by endless stars
and a man, a ship calling it home
this ship came into shelter
from a storm, months it was
but it spoke of resilience
a seaman's faith to our ship of one
as our ship returns north
we carry a message home
our mate, the seafarer ventures again
to sail the ice, the home he loves
