the sailor

rowing to nowhere on the sea of my life
bending my back, a slave to the oars
i pay no attention, to peacetime nor strife
to the lightning that strikes, nor the thunder that roars

my direction i choose by the light of the moon
ever waxing and waning, untrustworthy guide
i hope against fate that i'll find the wind soon
no more oars, no more worries, just the wide ocean's tide

my sail is not raised, for i see no strong wind
only mountains and valleys of infinite waves
i've watched them approach: they have giggled and grinned
for they know that the wind is the power that saves

a boat in the eye of its sailor is all
but the wind, far above, requires less sky
it knows all the patterns of the rise and the fall
of the waves that have giggled and grinned at my cry

i plead for a breeze, for a brief breath of air,
for a change in the current that fills other sails
though the wind keeps its course, it bends ear to my prayer
its whispered reply: my path never fails

i stand on the deck, and my hands grip the rope
that will hoist up the sail and capture the breeze
and the sails in my heart are lifted by hope
as the sails catch the wind that my eye never sees

tossed this way and that by the unending fight
my once-sturdy oars now splinter and bend
the rope in my grip is now easy and light
as i raise up the sail to the height of the wind

the storm rages on, the waves never cease
my oars shatter and vanish in the dark of the night
but the wind lifts me up; i am finally released
from the chaos of pride and the lie of my right
to bask in the dawn, and the warmth of true peace
above waves, above storm, above trivial sights

gliding towards heaven on the breath of my King
refusing the lure of material things
my worries below, the heavens above
i depend on the unending wind of His love