We have spoken of tacking
Our ships away,
Changing our divergence
From one mile
For every sixty sailed,
To one mile every mile
As we part at ninety degrees,
Having sailed close aboard
A few years with
Turbulent waters between
Our hulls
Offset by occassional beautiful
Moments of sunrise
And reddened dusk,
The sun is now more often
Obscured by storm clouds,
Black and angry,
Unfeeling and irrational,
Lightning-full and dangerous,
With fewer sunny moments
Or even any forecast
The wind is picking up,
And the waves have
White caps on their heads,
Spray bursts more often
Over my bow and the rain
Is freezing now
Time not to tack so much
As wear ship,
Turn away from the wind,
Give up the beat to windward,
Accept the futility
Of a fools errand,
Slamming into a sea that
Does not forgive nor want me,
Turn instead south,
Away from the teeth of
A gale driven by spite and ADHD,
Sail south and hope to find
A sunnier clime
Before my ship
Finally
Sinks
There are times when one knows one should give in, knows that one is causing oneself pain, knows its unlikely to change, can see the smart move is to bail, yet keeps on anyway. This poem looks at the moments immediately before a dramatic change, where the hope of better things has not yet quite died
