I guess it is this time of year
when broken things are lashing out—
Shattered bodies, awry they steer
like ships at night, a foundered doubt.
The raging sea, its waves once still,
With ferocity it batters—
A splintered hull, a wooden wheel—
Shapeless truths, the darkened waters.
Against the rocks of weathered rhymes
And salty winds that secrets sigh,
We all must hunch, and ebb, at times
before the elements defy.
Abated, now, the seething storm
To which the living owe their path:
When raptures in the fray reform
If God forgives, in God we trust.
EngliShroud 