Tell IT TO THE MARINES 

So much pass when they fall asleep, 

Thread thither and whither

The bays and Shores of need

And play the ostrich to reality. 

Kind dreams may only bring them closer to lost times

But not so much sleep can promise them dreams. 

Dreams left to sorting out, in their favour, where they can. 

Here and now, you dream too

Some you lost to the smokes of thought that billows within, 

And mess your racing mind. 

So you fail to sleep and frail to fear

Staying awake by your schemes,

cooked to taste by your steaming mains

To unleash on those succumbing to slumber. 

Not so much there is to tell your kind, that is us, 

Who labour in the same fields

To the rider who calls the shot

To whose beck we call

Because we know the tools

And colours that make your shine. 

So tell it to the Marines next time they return. 

That the sun was hotter at setting than rise

Have their sympathy and become their hero of sources When they moor by the piers. 

Yes you can tell it to the Marines 

Once in a while 

When you have much for their short stay, 

Stories to which they can only bop their heads

Frown in laughter, and thrill their chills to your fibs

Whiles their eyes gleam with tears and glit 

To the joy of touching home again. 

They have no choice but belong,

Love the horse's own mouth and count themselves lucky

To be abreast with the living. 

For soon they will set sail and play to the tides again. 

A life akin to the thin that separates night and day. 

So hone the stories they love

Whiles they sail

With hymms of memories to their lips

When they remember your kindness and invincibility, 

An aura they cannot dispel. 

But don't tell it to the living 

No, don't tell it to another culprit 

Whose hands are soiled by the paint brush of commonality

Lest he turns, finger to the lips, and walk you aside. 

" this is our lives, not so loud"

But you can tell it to the marines

Who falls fish to your itch

Deep in your belly of hollows

Where darkness reigns. 

Paint your wall of stories now

Where the searching eyes of the sailor

May find a perfect rainbow after the storm, 

You snuck on the intelligence of the living

Once in a long while, but now, 

You can only tell it to the Marines. 

Next, when they return. 

By Frankie Sezno.