You search and search and
look for some shining sun,

as you are rock in your boat
drenched from the rains,

your paddles ready to depart
into the tides that want to

claim you as their own,
for your current is strong,

and you realize as you look down at your feet
you are made of stone, rock, gravel and cement

you are the glue, you are the lighthouse
the circulating beacon to guide

those who are lost, to those who have
tried to burn you down to watch

the bonfire of your sturdy wood
for their evening supper warmth,

and so you carry yourself from
out the storm and into your keep,

remembering remembering you
are there and always will be.