The Prize*

 

She has been gaining on us

Our hold heavy

With burdensome loot

Our riggings pock-marked

From the shot of exchanges

And the stress of this South Sea.

Duties never change

Sometimes lightened with song

But many a time

On our knees scrubbing.

Or hauling sheets

Or scampering aloft.

We know our lowliness

Those skeletons of drink, darkness

And debauchery ashore.

Captain reads us Psalms

Many a morn

But the images are so foreign

Like an exotic verdant isle

Not yet landed.

And this other bonnie ship

Gaining this late afternoon

All sails full and profiting

This might be the last

Of our nights for this flag.

Close watch to lights and breeze

We reckon.

And who are they?

And whose Crown?

And will we be shackled

Below decks?

Or given happy privilege

To serve and strain

And sing yet again?

For a different Captain

Headed for a different land?

With what seems

Totally different purpose.

 

(* Salvation starts with total despair of self, leading to an overthrow, a boarding, and a subjugation with ultimate gladness to a different Captain and King.)

 

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issuudotcomslashdewane

Married and father of two. Living in Waterloo, Ontario. Workplace health and safety professional. Blogger. Poet. Nature hiker. History buff. Inspirational writer. Newsboy for Jesus.

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