The Mad Sea
My hopes are ever on the sea's horizon.
Lately I have been so low, in the depths
As it were. Will tomorrow ever come?
At the end of my garden starts the steep,
Steep slope down to sheer cliffs that play
Drum to every breaker.
Discordant, ambiguous voices sometimes
Say things I do not wish to hear.
"Are you saved? Are you saved?"-and in
The returning backwash I hear,"you're
Not safe, not safe!"
O that my friends were the cliffs and breakers..
That they would play me a song of content!
But each wave threatens to carry me down to
Melancholy, frightening depths.
Now strong South-Westerlies blow the tide
Quickly into shore and each lying wave says,
"You're free, you're free!"
Tomorrow my horizon is just the same, an
Untroubled, unchanged ocean and on each
Wave my hopes rise then founder in the
Muck of existence that is my life.