The water is choppy, and clouds cover the sky.
This vessel between me and the ocean.
A few miles back, the sun had shone, and I’d
glided along, languid and calm.
But I fell asleep in the warm rays of noon…
and awoke – to night.
My oar is rickety, from much abuse
years and years of rowing
Against the current, against the odds
and now my arms are weary.
The boat’s boards are as warped as my mind,
the paint is chipped and faded.
But what can I do? I struggle on,
Solitary and silent.
The waves grow high; the wind grows wild
I sigh; this storm is not new.
If I capsize, drown, toss out the oars,
Will anyone know I once sailed?
Better to fight Neptune all the way down
Than never to have left the shore.
more by VK LYNNE
photograph by Patrick Fore
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