A mariner never drowns

A mariner never drowns
but only returns to the surf
from which he sprang.

The waves are calling me today
on a late October day
when the winds whip the sound
into a gauntlet of breakers
battering the indifferent shore.
Waters like this will take you down
and return you so bloated
only your sweater will prove
whose corpse has washed ashore.

The sea birds have gone inland
but I remain to listen
as the wind and waves
speak my name
and welcome me
like a yearning lover
who misses my touch
and lives to breath beside me.
How can I refuse her?
I wade up to my ankles and feel sand rush
from beneath my soles.
The undertow will take me
If I wade in above my knees.

The Undecided

Without consensus
without confidence
a conflict continues to burn low but steady
while a hesitant will continues to tarry.

Will fate be left to chance?
What deserves swift action
when so much can and will go wrong?
I am no merchant of chance.
Should I roll the dice with my life bet on it?
Perhaps it is safer to sit pat, and not tempt fate.
Cowardice has its place in a dangerous world.
Who but a fool wanders into the breach
for no reason at all.

At the same time,
the ground beneath me is not terra firma.
Every storm washes away more ground
exposing roots that no longer hold back eroding soil.
The atmosphere is ripe with turbulence
undermining the shore at ever chance.
This is no place to build a home.
The waves threaten to swamp
the foundation dug too low for this terrain.

Time to move to higher ground?
I will have to consider it.