the Anchor.
once was there a quiet coastal village.
once was there a quiet coastal village.
one fishing town, a simple town and sweet.
in quaint harbor lie, like foam crested waves,
the sails of the vessels which they did keep.
free floated those vessels, full liberty.
by constraints uncontained, loose for roaming.
no stifling, no prisons, no chains for these.
free were these sailboats, as wind or the sea.
when gales did arise, and truly they did,
untethered on high, their passion they spent
on those free-sailing sloops – naught did forbid.
thus dashed upon rocks or out to sea swept
each ship, at mercy of Spirit above.
as true as the tide, the squall did its deed.
with sorrow, the fishers repaired, reseamed,
replaced their sailboats perpetu’ly free.
losses despised by the villagers each.
one thing only of portent: that they be free.
with warm wild wind, sails one day arriving,
a Stranger did herald, He and His ship.
into the harbor, bold came He sailing,
hailed by the waves as His journey made end.
O’er the side of the boat He then hoisted,
with monument strength, as town –folk did gaze,
a strange piece and figure, made all of lead,
where cross met with arrow, a crucifix tipped.
the figure relinquished, proceeded to sink –
that strange figurine, rope trailing behind.
no ounce more strange did the fisher-folk think
the Ballast itself then the Captain’s deed.
no sooner ashore when questions took wing:
why chained He his vessel in slavery?
to what purpose the bondage? He answering –
friends, for one purpose this sea craft was made.
this Weight, yes, this Anchor, keeps it for me –
safe guards it in harbor. so now you see,
kept by this Anchor for its destiny,
then, only then, does it truly live Free.
