Take To The Sea: Revision Four In the outskirts of Maine, Nestled in the sanctity of Acadia National Park Embezzeled

by land and rock lies Bar Harbor. Along the waters a chipped-paint boat treads Against the resisting current. It holds the weight of a desperate man Whose shoulders sink to support a hung head. Sailing, the waves nuzzle against the boat, Emitting a salty-sweet mist that caresses the air And is flows deeply into the mans nostrils As he breathes in anxiously before Letting out a wishful sigh of contempt. The entrance to the sea is surrounded by rocks, Layers of smooth stone, eroded by the water Whose mounds act as guardians of the sea. They form to create a natural barrier That wraps around the harbor Leading back to the shore. Even now at the edge of his freedom His family was trying to keep him Enveloping him in rock Like outstretched arms. There was nothing left for him along the shore, But a grand house, stale with the conversations of frivolous nothings. The boat grows closer to the mouth of the sea But the wind is against him And the current is against him. The battered boat Exhausts a small black cloud And turns back toward the blood-chained shore.