In a dream I walked on a stormy shore
where the nations were ships caught in wild waves,
tossed in the heave and the dark curling roar
of a blood-dimmed tide while frantic crews, brave
but confused, fought the loosed anarchy, scanned
the gyrating needles. But though the grave
loomed hungry and the violence at hand
filled many with foreboding, on each ship
some lifted heads in hope, as if the planned
harbour were near, safety waiting at trip’s
end, storms overcome and peace unfolding.
On land they’d seen the trees, the brown leaves slipped
off as if in death, naked limbs holding
only air, life seemingly departed.
But the leaves budded again, strength growing
green as summer, life and joy re-started,
winter past. Thus these hopeful ones grasped
lines on each ship, held sail firm, strong hearted,
grounded in faith, sure of One whose arms clasped
theirs in love: love greater than fear, than death;
in whom and by whom they would stand at last.
Copyright © 2015 by Andrew King