A book I read speaks of hope as an anchor.
But an anchor seems so small compared to it’s ship. It’s the sails that
do impress me; they capture the wind’s breath. For me the canvass is
grander than the ordinary iron.
It is I who am in control! It is I who steers the wheel! I control the
rudder! I decide the course! Why are currents stronger? Winds so
awfully fierce? My rudder I turn one way, but elsewhere goes my ship!
Other ships journey where captain’s they do choose. But nature strikes
with conflict and disrespect for me.
There was a time when I followed where other ships did go. They said it
is not proper to continue in our wake. Compass, map and sextant, will
lead you to your goal. Somehow my map is different; nothing stays the
same.
What good is a compass, when north will not be true? Now even my rudder
has a will that’s all it’s own.
All choices have been taken; I’m doomed to troubled fate! To my knees I
fall as tears do stain a rugged timber deck. Gazing ahead on an isle I
see, sandy shore and treacherous rock. So this is how it ends? Journey
of helplessness, destiny of despair?
Bravely I have fought the sea, why continue when all is futile? Yet a
choice still remains.
Shall I run aground on sandy shore, surviving in body alone? Or with
full sails hoisted end it all against treacherous rocks of doom. This
much choice life gives me, a dilemma I’m sure you’ll see.
Below, a pool of tears does lay, a lake of sadness and bitter grief. A
sea of salt my eyes have formed to capture inner thought. A reflection
lies within. An answer always present, yet hidden by my heart. An anchor
of iron, steadfast and strong, in patience waiting near. This sailor’s
dilemma is not the end, but a turning point for me. With lowered sails
to slow me, Life is far from being lost. My hope is in that anchor that
descends to ocean floor.
This captain had not considered the complexity of his ship. There were
parts he thought were useless, while others seemed so grand! That anchor
provided safety, while more and more he learned.
A folded cloth of color found lying on a shelf.
So small beside a canvass sail, so humble beckoning there. Now dances
free with sea breeze atop the tallest mast. A flag of distress now
pleading for other ships to help.
This story’s far from over, though words are ending soon. We all have
ships that travel through seas we do not know. Some of us will journey
where other ships have sailed. Others still need answers to questions
yet unknown.
Some ships seek the answers for others flying flags. Let us help each
other, and there’ll be calmer seas for all.
Some
are the melody, some are the rhythm, some are the harmony