I used to think God created me
Like a ship set onto the open sea.
Ready for storms and rolling waves,
Passing with grace over sailor’s graves.
Eyes set on each new horizon with wonder,
Being rocked to sleep as the sun went under.
Then, I believed God created me
Like a paper boat set onto open sea.
Drenched and chilled by storms and waves
Like sailors at their end of days.
Some say God’s beloved creation is men,
But He loves His horizon far more than them.
For He lets the sun fall in all its glory,
Then rise again to continue its story.
But these tragic men, for whom the bell tolls
Are never to wake, asleep to the soul.
In the misery and torture that befell me on the sea,
For a moment I wished those men to be.
To rest forever in a blanket of blue
Untouched, unbothered by the burden of truth.
I stared into the deep, and it back at me
Swirling, seducing, beautifully obscene.
I wonder, as I inch towards the void so great
Is there anyone to save me from this fate?
I stop dead in my tracks and look to the sky
As I realize the only one who can save me is I.
Today, I’m not sure about the almighty (we don’t talk much anymore),
Or why he made me (though I hope to find out as I go).
However, I do know (in my heart of hearts),
That it was not the promise of a smooth sea (though wonderful it would be)
Or even a fear of becoming like the sailors (who still have my prayers)
That kept me from diving into the deep (from which I never would have returned). It was the
hope (resilience, belief)
Or even the notion (inkling, conception)
That someday (tomorrow, next week, three years from now)
I would become (blossom, flourish, mature)
A sailor with enough skill (expertise, ability, potential)
To sail confidently (assuredly, optimistically)
regardless of (nevertheless, anyway, anyhow)
The boat (cruise ship, paper boat, battleship)
Or the weather (sun, wind, storm, hurricane)