Soon to be nothing left of me
A hopeless wanderer cast out to sea
Foaming with pride – held tight to a swathe of wood and copper
The rulers of the waves all those years ago
Where tyrants turned with nowhere to row
In fistfuls of fighting where men became all they had dreamed of
To be away from their land, embracing salt and sea
Holding those dreams down is no good.
Did it ever stop them?
They broke on through, and so too must you, if you want to be the best
Why settle for anything less?
By Samuel de Birche
Parisian Poetry 