Sailboat

This being human is a sailboat,

Tied to the wooden anchors of a shipping port,

Threatening to be turned over

by the angry waves of the ocean,

If not for the ropes suspended from the starboard and bow,

Supporting its hull with two simple rings,

resting on either side of its massive hull.

This sailboat wishes to be free,

To kiss the cerulean sky,

And bask in the Caribbean sun,

But is bound by the thick cords of obligation

and daily routine;

It wishes to let its sail unfurl,

Be tossed about in the wind,

Like the playful airborne dances

of the gulls and other seabirds,

But is chained by the fear

of getting lost at sea,

Without a proper guide,

or companion to sail the vast waves,

Of the unforgiving ocean with.

Every so often,

The waves will become so course

that the ropes will comes free,

And the ship will be pushed out

to the horizon.

It’s at that moment that the sailboat

becomes detached from worldly desire,

And can spend the rest of its days

Sailing continent to continent;

drifting further from the foggy port

Where it once made its birth.

-Emma Lee Downs