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The ferry to nowhere (Marcella Boccia)
The ferry to nowhere (Marcella Boccia)
The ferry rocks in the mist,its hull a whisper against the water’s skin,the river yawns wide, a mouth full of secrets,and I step aboard, heart full of questionsthe wind will not answer.There’s no map, no compass here,only the soft hum of the engine,like a prayer that has forgotten how to speak,and the cold, the ever-present cold,licking at my bones, reminding methat even the sea is a liar.The shore fades like an old photograph,edges blurred, faces lost to the fog,and I am left alone with the hum,the pulse of a world I cannot touch,the vastness of everythingthat never quite reaches me.The captain, silent, his eyes swallowed by the dark,leads us nowhere,and we sail, aimless,toward the thin line where sky and sea bleedinto one.Perhaps this is where we’re meant to be—suspended between worlds,where words are too heavy to fall,and nothing has a name.Just the endless rocking,and the cold that waits,as patient as eternity.
The ferry rocks in the mist,its hull a whisper against the water’s skin,the river yawns wide, a mouth full of secrets,and I step aboard, heart full of questionsthe wind will not answer.There’s no map, no compass here,only the soft hum of the engine,like a prayer that has forgotten how to speak,and the cold, the ever-present cold,licking at my bones, reminding methat even the sea is a liar.The shore fades like an old photograph,edges blurred, faces lost to the fog,and I am left alone with the hum,the pulse of a world I cannot touch,the vastness of everythingthat never quite reaches me.The captain, silent, his eyes swallowed by the dark,leads us nowhere,and we sail, aimless,toward the thin line where sky and sea bleedinto one.Perhaps this is where we’re meant to be—suspended between worlds,where words are too heavy to fall,and nothing has a name.Just the endless rocking,and the cold that waits,as patient as eternity.
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By MARCELLA BOCCIAThe ferry to nowhere (Marcella Boccia)
The ferry rocks in the mist,its hull a whisper against the water’s skin,the river yawns wide, a mouth full of secrets,and I step aboard, heart full of questionsthe wind will not answer.There’s no map, no compass here,only the soft hum of the engine,like a prayer that has forgotten how to speak,and the cold, the ever-present cold,licking at my bones, reminding methat even the sea is a liar.The shore fades like an old photograph,edges blurred, faces lost to the fog,and I am left alone with the hum,the pulse of a world I cannot touch,the vastness of everythingthat never quite reaches me.The captain, silent, his eyes swallowed by the dark,leads us nowhere,and we sail, aimless,toward the thin line where sky and sea bleedinto one.Perhaps this is where we’re meant to be—suspended between worlds,where words are too heavy to fall,and nothing has a name.Just the endless rocking,and the cold that waits,as patient as eternity.
The ferry rocks in the mist,its hull a whisper against the water’s skin,the river yawns wide, a mouth full of secrets,and I step aboard, heart full of questionsthe wind will not answer.There’s no map, no compass here,only the soft hum of the engine,like a prayer that has forgotten how to speak,and the cold, the ever-present cold,licking at my bones, reminding methat even the sea is a liar.The shore fades like an old photograph,edges blurred, faces lost to the fog,and I am left alone with the hum,the pulse of a world I cannot touch,the vastness of everythingthat never quite reaches me.The captain, silent, his eyes swallowed by the dark,leads us nowhere,and we sail, aimless,toward the thin line where sky and sea bleedinto one.Perhaps this is where we’re meant to be—suspended between worlds,where words are too heavy to fall,and nothing has a name.Just the endless rocking,and the cold that waits,as patient as eternity.