Of Pilings and Ropes

The pilings are dark and thick,
coated with brown creosote to protect them
from the tidal river,
the constant tug of currents
and change of direction
that threaten to pull them from the riverbed.

Alone, the ebb and flow, day after day,
season after season,
would pull them from the muck
and send them down the river,
but bound together as they are,
a dozen or more,
they become an island, rooted and strong,

unmoveable, certain, a bulwark of stability
for ships and birds alike, who count on these pilings
to provide safe mooring, even in the worst storms.

This then, is why we have love,
to bind us not in slavery,
but in safety against the storms,
to outlive the seasons and currents
and give us safe havens
where we cling to each other in fear,
joy and passion, certain of nothing else
except each other.

About this poem. 

Another “could be God, could be a human relationship, be it a lover, or parent, child, or dearest of friends” poems.

The picture was taken in Surry County, where the Jamestown Ferry comes in to dock.

Tom