There is a letter from a loved one’s hand…
Not allowed in the soul of guilty sand.
Dripping metronome of the hourglass,
Running from nothing, but surging en mass.
Put your hand in someone’s needy grasp;
It’s not like love, a panicked clasp.
Drowning in fear, reason retreats to need
Of holding life in our eyes…survival’s creed.
Stand on my shoulders to reach that place;
Leave me in riptide, a foamy lace
Of waves searching and lunging to shore:
The legends of death and sailor’s lore.
Glory hides in the belly of fear and doubt;
Courage rides adrenalin on an uncharted route:
Gripping the humble man who took a step of trust,
The doldrums of limp sails, surprised by a gust.
Forget the stumbling footprints burned in the sand;
Waves methodically erasing with rhythmic hand
The plague of the past and the shape of the land.
Looking and pressing into the wind, time to stand.
Today and now defines the rest of your life;
If you rise above the devil’s cruel, rusty knife
Of holding the slave’s chain of what can’t be undone.
If you conquer the demons of self…you just won…
With the gift of freedom, you gather the men
To build a ship of future forgiveness of sin.
Hull to mast, bleeding the blood of sunset pride;
Knowing that you won’t be around to be a guide.
She sails at dawn while they lay flowers on dirt;
Still in the ground, you ride wakes of salty skirt.
Your last sigh brushes the captain’s stern gaze:
A warm kiss from grave, promises happier days.
The dream of life dances to silvery, moonlit horizon;
Returning to constellations, the flickering reason
To look to the sky once above…now below
Knowing someday the ship will sit in Northern Light’s glow.
It’s only Your prayer, whispered in the cool breeze…