All At Sea

There’s a storm brewing out there,

in the dark of periphery.

I can taste the spray, feel the wind,

smell the breath of the beast as it comes…

My mind is all at sea;

my anxiety comes in waves arching

twenty feet or more and I am alone

trying to steer my broken boat back

to some semblance of a harbour:

She’s got a cracked hull and split sails

trying to fly on a halved mast. The beast

is hungry for more than my ship can feed it.

Her anchor is sunk far beneath the depths

content only to steady what sand it settles in whilst I

battle to keep my head above water.

Sometimes these storms get so dark, the wind

gets loud that every wave sounds like hounds baying

for your blood. And if the beast has marked you

for death by drowning how can you outrun it

when there’s nowhere to hide.

The oceans are where storms are born after all…

but also almost always where they die.

I can’t remember dawn now, though I try.

I know daybreak will split the sky - the sun

will come. I’ve just got to ride out the night.

The beast is not unbeatable.

I’ve watched him cower, heard his whimpers as I have forced him back.

I don’t feel it in my clenched teeth, but my bark

is stronger than his bite.

I know this.

And for a while, the howling does not seem

quite so loud.