Paper ships

I keep on letting paper ships go off into the night, as if their safe return was somehow my god-given right. Should I really be surprised to find them washed up In the sand? After all, their faults were my design and they're the product of my hand. A sculptor doesn't blame the clay when the bowl breaks from a fall, how then do I shake my fist at others for my faults? I close my eyes and see the truth, but it's no different when I wake, I can't escape the fact that I've made my bed and this is now my fate. Throwing fire into oceans and feigning surprise when the liquid doesn't light, Some bridges must be burned, some houses are simply fuel for the fires of the night.