failure and seatravel

if i were a sailor, i would have no worthy ship
to sail away, another day from yet another port
i would have no mate aboard to give damage report
i would have no sharpened cutlass swinging from the hip
i wouldn't have a North Star to guide me through this night
or charts and instruments to navigate me through this past
no fortitude or common sense to make the rations last
no cannon, shell, or powder to protect me in the fight
stuck and always drifting, ne'er to discover virgin land
floating on this wooden grave, ever closer to the mire
no protection from the Storm or Sea, tide ever rising higher
breaking up on a forsaken shoal, i'm left burning in the sand
i have raised the flag upside down showcasing my distress
i am glad i'm not a sailor, to wish i were much less