The Storm Tamer

You are the victim of your captain’s tongue.
Beautiful, huge, luxurious beyond words.
The most magnificent ship in the world.
“I don’t even think God could sink this ship
If he wanted to.”

The journey sets forth with all but the fiery
coal piles that drive you.
You are born ablaze and die extinguished
With the cold ocean that devours you;
And the fetal words of your captain swallowed
By the aging Proverb that lives through.
“Pride goeth before destruction.”

That mountain of ice is dead ahead.
The fountain of hope has kept you from
Reversing the engines and
Steering clear of the facade of your loss.
You have been racing at full speed with
The fuel of human egotism.

His hand is cold with the energy sucked
Away from his human body.
And he retires at the back of his floating pulpit;
Kept in the company of fishermen.

The still, deceiving calm of the sea:
a beat resounding the pacifism of Galilee.
The cold valley air funnels across the sea,
and it rushes to meet the warm wind of peace
To sign an agreement of violence:
The perfect storm.

The hasty winds and the seismic waves,
And all but the weary hearts of men
And the table top skin of water that once was,
They yield in disarray: Defeated.
The tongues of fishermen: Defeated.

“Don’t you care that we’re perishing?”;
Cried out as the lightning strikes
and the light sweeps across the raucous scene.
The light kindles the tired man at the stern.
All of man’s efforts obscured.

“Peace. Be Still.”
Nature starts to breathe, and see,
And hear the words of this man
Who has warrant over
The engines of her assault.

Where is your faith?
Hidden inside the metal frame of the Titanic?
Switch seats from within this luxury boat
And let the ocean devour you for all that is
Earnest to mortal sufficiency.

The heart is a stern for the Captain of fishermen.

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