The Fisherman

The Fisherman

A Poem of Forgiveness

Dedicated to God

It's not unusual for the odd floating maggot to appear,

As if we believe maggots can swim,

And for the Fisherman to continue insulting us.

Only the Fisherman has his own maggot.

Like the warming glow of the sun, it is central to all in his world,

But even through my rippling window, I can see this maggot for what it is;

Seemingly creating a sense of calm, like that of today's sky, when all it brings is thunder.

Yet still the Fisherman waits as though he is the one with the upper hand, with his bait, and his lure,

Despite his idleness in thought - failing

To recognise his own absence both in life and refuge.

Albeit immersed in unforgiving workloads and impossible deadlines

And still reeling for an answer to his prayers,

The Fisherman never fails to inspire.

The Fisherman has hope.

Casting and reeling, casting and reeling nothing,

The Fisherman moves round the lake every day, only to return with nothing.

Time is no factor - time is nothing.

Without his catch, the Fisherman is nothing.

Quite the contrary my feathered friend,

The Fisherman is everything.

Jaime Gray