Ship of an Adventurous Past

From afar, the metal scratches the ocean of dirty green hues,

Sailing reluctantly towards land.

The sails flailing with boredom in the gentle breeze.

From afar, the ship is still; the ship is perfect.

Up close, the metal caresses the blanket of teals and greens,

Majestically sailing onward towards adventure.

Sailors tossed about the deck, grinning with excitement.

The scratches on the ship's body tell of its past:

its harships, its fervor, its triumphs. 

Up close, the ship is tentative; the ship is flawed and the ship is honest.

The honesty of the ship, its sails, and its sailors illustrate the spirit of the ship.

Without its imperfections, the knowledge of its intriguing past would be lost as a pebble is at the bottom of the sea.

In this ocean that is life, must we filter our history?

Our scuffs, our scratches, our tears?

Our memories, our quirks, our passions?

Our imperfections are our definitions.

If we filter these, we are merely another ship, the same as every other, with no story of adventure to be told.