This storm without reason

When the waters of my troubled being
clash with the shores of my unresolvable doubt,
you are my rock, the granite that withstands,
the assault of this tantrum tossed sea.

There is a calming in your weathering stone,
stoic and glistening, reflecting your starlight,
sparkling with all manner of life’s crystals buried
in the depths of your perfectly smooth surface.

I cannot claim such strength, nor uphold
the soil that washes from beneath my soles,
scattering as muddied water returning from wince
it came never returning to where it began.

When the tempest subsides to placid swells
your sweet breath is that breeze of cool salted air,
refreshing, holding aloft hope on flying fish wings,
resting in the ebb tide of foam drenched quietude.

©2011, Donald Harbour