Searching for another storm

This is my first attempt to write something that doesnt rhyme, tell me what you think

Our eyes tell more stories than our lips,
as we resolve to make tiny vessals of
our short-comings,
and sailing ships amast among the
sea of our sweet nothings.
believe me there is a paradise,
but you might not make it there
if you're always trying to be first in line.
simply being satisfied
from impulse to impulse back to the
paradox of square one.
Each day a new journey begun for the
recluse to reach reverie
recieve revalation from the form of
love that holds our home.
if we can manage hold our own from
the current of chemicals and
everstanding torrents of stimuli that
grants us bittersweet seconds of
happiness, we wont set sail once again
searching for another storm.