No port waits for me, no lighthouse calls me home.
I follow only the whims of the wind,
and in this surrender, I am lost in the ocean of life.
My crew is small but heavy with ghosts:
Hopelessness, Heartache, and Anger.
Hopelessness stands at the helm,
eyes dulled, hands empty of compass or chart.
She has forgotten how to read the stars,
and so we drift, directionless.
Heartache lurks below deck,
engine shattered, anchor gone,
fingers trembling too much to mend what’s broken.
And then there is Anger.
Ah, Anger—
she is the only one who rows,
her fury the oar that keeps us moving,
even as the others weigh us down.
And so we remain,
adrift,
a ship without destination,
propelled by rage alone.
