The man who never cries is like the ship
That never sailed or left the sleepy shores,
Who’s never felt the waves of peril whip
Against his keel, far off from peaceful shoals.
Fearing the unrelenting ocean's guile
—The treasures claimed by wet tempestuousness—
A denizen upon Calypso's isle,
He lies on shores of voluptuousness.
When gazing from his tearless strand, he sees
In twirling clouds the faces he so loves;
He thinks of worlds across the salted seas,
Then looks to the lingering host above:
His dry eyes become the cruelest prison
As each cloud fades into the horizon.