Sailboat Poem by Mark Heathcote

A sailboat has no direction.
But to go wherever it-is-taken
drift or tides make no mistake
we too-must glide across this lake,
this endlessly, deep dark-fractured ocean.

And row, possibly without an oar
navigate possibly without-a-rudder
or hold fast without a well-bedded anchor.
We-too-must abhors and even-at-times adhere
to stir in the devil's own watercourses his ashen fiery winds.

Till the buoys of time
turn and direct us in on-a-wave returning to the tides soul.
Surf-like until another or He directs us home.