A metaphoric exploration. (Don't let the title fool you!) |
The sense of falling, Imminent. The rolling and tossing, constant. Leaning over the wooden edge, my toes brushing the deck, And the taste of salt in my mouth, I contemplate death And life as one who always searches for the shore. Yet when upon it I have to remember What it is like to walk with something Firm and steady beneath my feet. And with lurching steps I am glad To return to the ship. The unknown I know. Somehow, long ago, it became Habit to expect the world to Pitch and hurl beneath my feet. Each of us sleeps alone tonight. It is my turn to keep watch in the crows nest And as I look out to black waters and brighter sky I have the sense of falling again. I sense if I could only leap far enough I could walk from star to star to star And swim to the moon. Instead, with resolution, I run my hand Along the wood, worn smooth from Many grasping hands, other sailors, Who feared they might jump into that inky sky If they took one moment to let go. With less fear of falling to the water And more fear of reaching whatever star That struck their eye. When the sun rises, the horizon burns red And I know a storm will come. Unanchored, exposed with only will and courage We will survive. Or not. And I yearn to reach The shores once again. Maybe this time, I could Sleep and walk with the earth beneath me and not be startled at its stillness. Maybe this one time, I might trust the dirt beneath me And give up what I have known. But first I must make it through this storm. |