rest awhile

Rest awhile!

For, as the trusty pilot whale,

You have steered us through troubled waters.

Oftentimes on this long voyage

I doubted your bearing;

Yet only my faith had gone astray.

For when our track seemed most haphazard,

It was but you, leading us

Amongst an unseen labyrinth of rocks,

Lurking beneath the waves,

Waiting to gore the very belly of our vessel.

And when we did dally in quiet waters,

Squirming in the frustration of idleness,

It was but you, sheltering us,

From the wrathful vengeance

Of a passing tempest.

When we did veer from the charted channel,

It was but you, wending us

Past deceitful shifting sands,

Upon which, the line plumbed of old

Would have us run aground.

And again, when we did take

An improbable and turbulent detour,

It was but you, circumnavigating us

Past a raging maelstrom,

Which would drag us to the deep.

When we did drop an anchor,

Ceasing progress for no known cause,

It was but you, holding us

Steady against the adverse ebb,

Which would sweep us to oblivion.

Then when we did up anchor

To ride a crazy, rudderless time,

It was but you, riding us

Upon the favourable flood,

Resolute against our misplaced fear.

When we did turn hither and thither,

Our compass dizzy with unsought points,

It was but you, tacking us

Into a most uncharitable headwind,

That would have us blown away.

And when the moonless night

Did raise our dread untold,

It was but you who lent a gentle oar,

To keep us moving onward

Through the darkness.

Then as a sea-mist gathered to a fog,

All beacons extinguished,

Our pole star gone,

It was but you, that coaxed us

Forward without our sextant’s sighting.

Then in those shrouding vapours,

All sight and sound lost to the dark,

The wind no longer in our sails,

The waters took on a deathly stillness.

We stopped.

Lost to the doldrums:

No means to move, nor steerage,

Nor even the hope of direction;

There did you abandon us to our misery.

And I did hate you for your infidelity.

Lost we were, in anguish unfathomed,

With no more a guide to rescue us.

Overboard had gone our hopes,

Our tentative thoughts of homely rest,

Our dreams of lying in lovers’ arms.

On that bare deck, devoid of stores,

The last barrel of water

Drained to our unquenchable thirst,

There did we weep bitterly

For what would be no more.

So it was, abandoned thus,

That a pale, unwished for sun did rise.

With puny rays did it face the impenetrable.

Yet through its timeless caress,

It did, by degrees, melt those mists.

So by the zenith we can see once more.

And Lo!  Around us lies a harbour wall.

Those still waters are no listless sea,

But the sheltered womb

Of our home port.

For though I know not

How it was done,

You did bring us whither we would be.

Now rest awhile,

Oh naked flame of discontent,

Until, once more, we must to sea.

(January 2002)