BabyChristian
New member
HA!
My brother is a talented writer, he works at Nuclear Power Plants. He wrote this poem one night about his alcoholism. We both have that malady but he's been sober a couple of years. I had been off booze for 22 years but relapsed.
THE BEACON LIGHT
Just as the ship that breaks the waves through a cold and windswept night,
The jagged reefs and shoals we brave in search of the Beacon light.
From the bow and from the crows nest, through the fog and through the gales,
At the rudder I can take no rest as the weather attacks our sails.
My hands grip tight the wooden wheel, my knees now weak and shaking,
Each onslaught to the bow I feel, each wave the hull is taking.
The masts all bear the storms full weight, the booms and spars all creaking,
I call out to the ships first mate but no one hears me speaking.
No moon nor stars seen overhead, the swells upon us break,
And send a groan from each bulkhead, how much more can she take?
A hand gives me a cup of grog, I swallow hard and fast
To brave the cold and wind blown fog, for this shall be my last.
Our fate's the same, this ship and I, as I survey my life,
We've endured much, though I shall die and leave my son and wife,
To bear a witness of my days but not to grieve I think,
For they'll not miss my cruel ways each night as I would drink.
The legacy I leave behind of which I cannot boast,
The times that I was so unkind to those who loved me most.
To my family and the friends who sustained me in my need,
In compassion, but to what ends, in my selfishness and greed?
And now the wind it beats me, the salt air stings my eyes.
This cruel storm defeats me, no ears to heed my cries.
And as my thoughts return to now, the fear my death at hand,
I imagine calmer seas and somehow dream of firm dry land.
The journey's been so very long, running low on life's provisions.
The cold thick mist and salt air now with night obscure my vision.
Tugging hard upon my collar, up close around my neck.
My feet so often slip upon the brine that coats the deck.
The distant voice of my first mate from the stern I faintly hear,
And then the voice of the Bos'n’s mate of a starboard reef we clear.
With ice and wind taking their toll, pulling hard to the starboard side,
Across the port she slips a shoal with her instincts as her guide.
Jutting sharp before me, the jib sail just in sight,
Salt forms cold upon my brow, I curse the black of night.
My hands and fingers frozen, my forearms scream with pain,
The air I breathe comes harder now with the wind and freezing rain.
Are the tears that course across my cheeks from the fear of my dying now,
Or from relief from all the grief the end would bring somehow?
A crack and crash behind me as the mainmast hits the rail,
The canvas sheets now blind me with a ship devoid of sail.
I turn and peer to my right, my left and far astern,
And as I squint into the night, the truth of it I learn.
My bos'n’s mate I cannot see the crew swept overboard.
The ships crew now consists of me and perhaps, I pray, my lord.
I feel the rudder smash and tear, the wheel spins in my hand.
A jolt and shudder grips the hull, the bow rips through the sand.
The vessel rocks, the stern adrift. I hear a mighty groan.
As timbers crack I start to laugh; a madman dies alone!
The boat now listing hard to port as I crash to my knees,
Though I've not been a spiritual sort, I hear myself say,"please."
"To the father of my fathers, to whom my mother prayed,
Can you somehow be with me now for I am so afraid?"
"I lived a life of selfishness, though now please hear my prayer;
I pray not for my life or soul but for those for whom I care."
My cruelty and hatefulness were all I had to give,
And to those who knew me best, 'tis best that I not live.”
"To those who, though very few, might grieve at my demise,
Show the error of my ways as now seen through my eyes.
Forgive me so that I might know my son and his sons after,
Will think of thee, and perhaps, then me with tenderness and laughter."
And with these words upon my lips, no time to say Amen,
The waves wash me into the sea to be never seen again.
And as I sink, in death I think, head bowed and knees still bent,
I lift my head, knelt by my bed, a nightmare, heaven sent!
And ever since that frightful night when I found God’s sweet grace,
I follow fast his Beacon light till we meet face to face.
Welcome to TOL.
