Anchors

They hold you in the storm,
stout steel fingers
digging deep in the seas murky foundation,
while wind tears and waves wash.

But their value is not their hold.
Any predator can hold you captive
until you die.
No,
They release you
when the journey calls
and the sea beckons
and let you discover
your own horizons.

About this poem. 

This is not the poem I meant to write this morning. But generally the muse knows better than I do.

Tom