Dark and Stormy

dark and stormy

I suppose it is primeval,
to take shelter from a storm.

Simple survival suggest that the cave,
warmed by firelight,
will improve your chances
of seeing another sunrise.

But what of the sailors.
Whose haven of a bolt-hole
is but a speck
on the roiling maw of an ocean.

When the sails luff,
and the albatross banks away from their wake,
and the gale is upon them…
how deep in the belly
must they go
to find refuge…

An oil lamp,
a swinging canvas bunk,
the rhythmic sliding
of the heavy wooden trunks,
fore and aft… and back again.

Do they find comfort
in the murmur of sea chanty
marking time on the weather deck above.

Is there a story they tell,
of their island home,
where the boots wait by the door,
and a light burns through the night…

and all eyes,
search the horizon,
for their safe return.

Huddle close ye fellow sailors.
It’s getting dark out there.