Before the Mast

And what of our Nature?

What can we truly say of it?

Certainly we are more than dust.

Certainly more than the baser instincts.

And certainly deeper than inspiration.

Certainly we are more real than

Cheap exhortations to piousness.

But in the dark of night

Stumbling in blindness

We need the lamp that brings light.

It is elegant in its wholeness.

The ceramic bowl made from clay,

The oil contained within,

Squeezed from a fissure of the earth,

Or rendered from the blubber

Of the deepest diver.

Then the wick,

The stem,

The conduit,

That connects the dark reservoir

With the apex.

Here, the mystery of the sparking heavens

Leaps to ignite the saturated tip.

Suddenly the flame is there

And the light chases the darkness

Into the shadows.

Are we not just this?

Bearers of the light?

The celestial arc of stars

Meets in the maw

Of a dark and fertile place.

There is nothing left to do

But squeeze the slippery fuel

From its ancient rendered flesh

And light the way forward....

We are restless mariners

Captives of our dreams

Sailing for the far horizon.