The Beating
More than a five day’s journey
out to sea and out of sight,
a water in its embryonic home,
in the womb of a larger sea,
the mother of the lilting tides,
rolling with her rolling,
breathing her air,
at peace with her peace,
born into the wild,
the waters of volatility,
ruled by the mood of the skies
in the season of caution,
getting nervous from
the heat of the sun,
the ammunition of the tempest,
the playground of the devil
in its early stages,
the feeling of his breath
against the face,
the being pushed around
by his nautical hands,
the involuntary joining in
on a circular motion,
a rag doll with no mind,
no rebellious thoughts,
a baby of the tranquil seas
becoming a beast,
an advocate of the devil,
a journeyman doing
his dirty work,
a ravaging hurricane
beating up on the
face of the earth,
a victim of the
malice of the wind.
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