A Sailorís Choice
(Dedicated to my
A book I have read speaks of hope as an anchor. An anchor to
me seems so small as it hangs from the side of a ship. I was impressed with
the sails as they carry me along to a distant shore. They capture the windís
breath and my vessel travels at a steady clip.
I cling to the wheel because with it I control rudder and course. I will
ride the storm of life, for I am the captain and I love the salty seas. The
ocean has itís currents, and the wind it has such force. I misjudged the
power of nature, rudder has damage, and my ship will not go where I please.
It seems that all choice has been stripped away, I feel helpless and doomed
to fate. I fall to my knees and watch my tears as they fall upon the planks
of wood. As I look ahead I see an island with shore of jagged rocks, ominous
and great. I now know how it all will end. I will crash full force against
boulders that timeless
I will hoist full sails, for I will exercise my last choice and my wreckage
will be among the greatest in history. Sailors will cast eyes upon the
scattered ruin and shake their heads in wonder and disbelief. I will no
longer an adventurer be. The observerís thoughts and feelings to me will
forever remain a mystery. Will I to them be some kind of hero who bravely
laughed at the face of death? Will my passing be a relief?
Other captains will gaze into the eyes of my children, wanting to speak, but
no words of comfort will be found. My wife and children will journey on with
so many questions left unanswered, with the word "why?" echoing within. A
pool of tears lay below my feet. Within this lake of sadness lies a
reflection of simple iron craftsmanship that to a chain is bound. Sometimes
within hopelessness a voice of reason can be heard. Such a wonderful sound
has saved many men.
I now clearly remember those things that truly matter in life: a smile on
the face of a friend; the gleam in a childís eye. So many things are
precious within my heart. I now have a choice of instant doom, or of joy yet
With certainty I lower the sails, as above me an eagle does soar, looking
down with wisdom as upon grand wings it does fly. My anchor of hope I lower
to the ocean floor as my ship slows. Above the masts, a flag of distress is
I will now rest with the knowledge that no sailor journeys completely
unaided. The storms of life are far too great for us to place our confidence
only in self. Terrors and fears they come and they go, and when we trust in
friendship their power is faded. Hope will be our anchor when we feel we are
in peril. Let us cast all our doubts upon a dusty shelf.
© Jeff G. - January 31, 2004
** This is dedicated to a friend who recently contemplated committing
suicide, but fortunately refrained from such an act.