The Shipbuilder’s Persistence

There is little left,
a bit of flotsam,
a few boards,
the remains of storms

that have left you only wreckage,
hardly enough to imagine
you were once whole,
once able to face oceans
unafraid
and sure.

The storm masters,
full of madness and spite,
full of their own whirlwind of demons,
unable, unwilling to fight
their battles within, unleashed them
on you leaving you battered
and battered
and battered again

until all that was left
was the scars, and fear,
and certainty.

But they, and you yourself
had not figured
on the shipbuilder’s persistence,
and here you stand,
imperfect and battered,
a thing of broken beauty,
ready, again,
to face the sea.

About this poem

We’ve all been broken. Some of us still are.  As long as we refuse to believe we are no more than wreckage, we can find our way to the sea and new adventures.

Tom