Amidst the sea of futility
Our engrossed traveler fares
Dripping sea-spray from his brow
Tugging at his bending oars
Drenched hairs whip his cheeks
As winds burn with taunting words
And a snarl twitches at his lips
Whilst the weather tears his threads
“Behold!” he cries
“My ears and eyes are clear,”
“My mind races and muscles ache,”
“I see no land, and hear no life,”
“I feel pain and know no calm,”
“Who are you to challenge me?”
“Who are you to beguile my fate?”
“I have my own boat and oars.”
Fevered and grinning now is he
Pulling ferociously upon each wave
One spark shines now and then
Within each eye with intent
Circling his boat is the blackest black
And the waves foam the whitest white
Such contrast blinds the weak
Yet he bares his teeth once more in flight
Now and then he mumbles again
“I have a way, and my way is my own,”
“Through the storm, my future I’ll form.”


Popular Posts