Waiting for the storm to pass, the storm to pass, the storm to pass...

Travelling seas of mountain peaks,
Everest waves climbing,
clinging at the starboard stern,
spray slapping against your face,
wakening you to the watch of moody waters,
your sinking heart rising in your stomach,
the norm of storm sticking in your throat,
through it, through it rushing windswept
calloused fingers point you on.

Then waiting on the silent ocean,
bobbing like a lifeless buoy
your sat-nav soul snuggled with explosives,
on quiet waters, mind wandering
where sharks are hungry,
peaceful, taut and angry,
lest you fall,
(too scared to call)
for fear you fall,
though God is sleeping in your boat,
a mighty warrior stilling silence
if he will,
when he will...

You head for land
and run aground,
and ride, crestfallen,
seas of torment,
approaching, passing, fresh preparing
for storms, the triumph of his art,
to lead you on, restore your soul.