A whisper in the canvas, a heave in the hull, The sea is a sermon, steady and dull.
Skies wear the weight of a world not yet cried, While mountains brood silent, with secrets to hide.
The sailboat leans like a tired old prayer, Carving through waters too cold to care.
No sun to beckon, no stars to steer, just wind and will, and a slight tug of fear.
But oh, what grace in the grief of the tide, In the lean of the mast, in the moments we ride.
For sometimes the beauty is born in the strain, In chasing the light through the marrow of rain.
We are all this vessel, with compass and doubt, Sailing toward answers the storms won’t give out.
And yet we go onward, heart beating through gray.
For peace isn’t port… it’s the courage to stay.
So bend with the weather, and ride with the ache, There’s glory in drifting, and pride in the wake.
Let the winds howl and the heavens weep blue,
For the sea knows your name… and she’s pulling you through.
The Coconut Muse