They’d have used me for bait. But I spent enough time on small ships and evil weather to appreciate and respect the ones who make a life...

At Sea

I've seen my death approaching,
all black topped with white foam
My flailing arms in terror grasping
surprised to find a home

A mighty vessel in its port,
a staid and solid home
all tossed about and helpless -
frail and weak and groaning,
not knowing where to turn -
or able

The biting cold of winter -
pitch and roll, angles absurd,
wind merciless

Fear thrust aside by sickness,
then fear begetting power