Nights are tempests,
an ocean of life full of lofty, violent waves,
enough to crush the mightiest ship to splinters,
and ours is just a fishing boat.
"Hold the mast steady!" your insides scream,
For this is but another bad dream,
or maybe a wrong brush stroke on a masterpiece canvas,
"So hold on lads, the day will clear the storm"
grip tight to your ship, and let these monsters go where they came from
"...for the morning is near"
so you close your eyes and wait out the waves, the rain, and the salty spray
and when it is finally day,
you see the morning sky had made the ordeal a memory,
and your ship goes along the flow, through the gentle breeze and sober waves
only that there's no crew left, so gaze again at the beautiful ocean of life.