Seagulls and sea boats away
Our water lightly scrapes up against the sides
Of the dock
Splintered with a hint of useless abuse

Our paint lasted for months
Longer than what it might have
If King Triton were angery
For what I do to his inspiring blue
Can be careless and crude

We put great thought
Into whatever is not said
But the silence wont help
Ever again in this cracked
And peeling life of his

He said I sigh and paint again
As if a way of living
Father colors his shed
I his boat
A dingy, faring him well
The old mans true son
His ferry to illusion