There are times when we are
enlightened with moments of
reflective thought, forgiveness
for our decisions, guilt
for our lack of correction.
A sailor should always know
where the North star is shining,
in which direction the
Southern Cross is pointing.
Navigation has never been
one of humanities finer points.
Bile is always waiting to rise,
hiding behind the next rolling
swell of events, and
the inevitable slide into the
trough trailing a foaming path.
You cannot stop the movement,
the ship is your journey,
it is a dumb tool of
your patience, experience,
a skill obtained through
feeling the wind, swells, currents,
anticipating the changing sea,
tracking the fall of the bow,
“Helmsman, mind your helm.”
“Aye, aye sir!”
©2014, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 