True words are scarcely told and sincerity may be far from appearances so bold. Three dark cold nights in the hole of emotional disdain; as a crew we understood and saw the hideous sights of pain. While the clock ticked away making time to flare, many days were attended to in the face of fear. The captain’s crisp garments were still soiled in the blood and guts from the surgery. He had not one friend to share in his lot. His fine raiment was rent and his limbs had been bent. There were no white horses at the gates of his once bright eyes and his brave heart was heavily bruised by cruel Fates. Poor soul, will your mind be opened again to see another bright sunrise on the hill of the county? O weary feet, will you ever walk the fluvial streets of the northern isle?
The tides which lead to predestination have been unknowingly low. The laces that beclouded our imaginations were heavy with holes of sorrow. Roses by any other name will smell as sweet and music will always be on a par with a harmonious beat. Locked behind the cruel stone of aloofness, we experienced that which lacked a name and our hearts grew to beat without a rhythm. In the face of obscurity, we witnessed and trod the dark sides of existence. We fought strong and hard for the next breath. Battles won are likely not to be as victorious as most scripts will portray them. In the heat of triumph, we were compelled to count our losses.
As we boarded the ship bound for Forever, we uttered our adieus to families and friends until our words escaped without being heard. While at the dock we prepared for the unknown and we felt alone. Many had to make a stop before we tested the deep waters. In the fiercest of storms, the captain steered the ship with a great acumen. He never grew weary whether the tides were high or low. Each time I looked around, it was just a handful of us. Emotions wavered and tensions grew; for the widest of moments, we appeared to be what was left of the world. Surrounded by the vastness of the waters and the blowing torrents of an insipid wind, we kept watch of the times and seasons by the captain’s chronometer and his compass was our only guide.
Our ambitions had been long forgotten and the pleasures that characterised our past lives had been buried in our many days on the waters of life. All seemed lost and despair overtook us in our race to the mount of moxie. As we kept sailing on a wrecked ship, life slipped away from our very hands. We fought hard and relentlessly, but the captain fought best. Outwitted by the arsenal of the underworld, we braved through and won an almost lost battle. He understood the waterways better than any of us and his insight was most needed at such an odd time. It dawned on us like the recurrent meaning of an old lost adage; as never before, a beautiful portrait of hope was painted on the canvas of the very sight before us. Soaring on the wings of patience and perseverance, it was shining bright in the lucid colours of deliverance. Immediately our sorrows turned into joy and our reeking garments of war were exchanged for an oil of gladness that welled up from within our hearts. Though our captain was no more than he was, our present lives longed for when the anchor shall again be tossed at the docks of the yonder…