Boating in the Open Ocean
by Andrew Roberts
Boating in the open ocean
everyone travels through:
destined for great adventure,
seeking wisdom, losing course.
Sunshine and bright horizons
turned to a mighty storm.
My bright blue wonder
broke into a midnight angst.
The boat rocked:
I felt sick.
I felt scared.
I felt alone with myself.
My once beloved boat
tipped and washed
me overboard.
I sank into oblivion.
And yet,
part of me wanted to sink,
deeper
and deeper still.
It felt right
for some twisted reason.
I could feel the floor reaching
for me, pulling me under.
It seemed so near,
but I couldn’t sink.
Something stopped me.
Something grasped me.
It pulled me out of the water,
saving me from drowning,
saving me from the Earth’s
Sea of Apprehension.
But I couldn’t open my eyes.
They stung with
the fires
of the open ocean.
I was blinded
by the salty water.
I was drenched
in the merciless ocean.
It enveloped every part
of my being—
my skin blanketed
and consumed by it.
Then, as if I had help,
I defeated this obstacle
to my voyage
and boarded my boat.
And though the sea rocked,
I still rode.
And though boats were lost and scuttled,
I still rode.
But in my soul,
I had a rugged gratitude.
I was allowed to keep steering my boat
toward the familiar coast.
And now I have faith,
that wherever I go,
He will never
let me sink.