Upon a jagged ocean
The heavens become constant
In vision, direction, and power of the moon.
Its slave tides play greeting games
Inches below,
With a hull familiar in verse,
Staying sturdy for survivors.
They follow a fear’s arrow in pieces
For the welcome mat of shore
Where a nod goodbye to the sea
Never means, respect wasn’t due.
Companions find comfort in the constant
For the thread ends at survival,
And the hope under moonlight
Streaking through the water,
Deep and black,
Lapping and lonely,
Never endless,
For power has its point too.
They fear it and swerve through its currents
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