Setting Sail
by Simon Whitton
20th October 2005

   

Ship quietly creaking, in the late watch of the night,

held in a slowly swaying hammock.

Lying awake becalmed, staring into darkness, 

secure with the familiar sounds and motion.

 

Out of the darkness a clear voice,

the word has come, the wind has come.

Sudden clattering and commotion,

the ship stirring, as people awake.

 

Startled, realization and clarity,

mind racing and people pacing.

So much to do to prepare to sail,

so much to tie down and stow away.

 

Everyone roused, not a soul left sleeping,

the vessel had been still, still in His keeping.

Windswept seas hold no terror, or fear of death,

for the sails move aloft and unfurl to His breath.

 

No land in sight, as we foam through the waves,

propelled forward by the winds of change.

We trust the charts are devoid of error,

the bright North star confirms our endeavour.

 

My face is set, towards the bow,

sailing close to wind, hug close to the wind.

Picking up speed, as if in a race,

sailing towards the land long promised.

 
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