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Swift are the ebbs of life,
This journey we yearn but fear,
Its blessings and surprises,
Perchance we are at the helm,
We may sail a known course.
The anchorless ship is our fear.
But for some it doesn’t matter,
Those crowned on high by the gods
For whom Herod parts with his realm,
Or mighty Rome in strife burns,
And great Troy in ruins lies,
This web is but a simulation,
For they that sail a known course.
They recede to soar to the summit.
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Writer Profile
Reality
I come alive when I write and the feeling that those few lines may impact positively on a soul unknown to me or even elicit a smile makes it a worthwhile endeavour.
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