smooth sailing, a rough sea
Week 48
no end in sight, a year too long, yet only days remain
riddled with guilt that stems from pride, just for this mutual gain
living in doubt, a scream, a shout, it's tense in this domain
things keep chugging and here I am, sitting atop my throne
I didn't mean to climb up here and now I'm quite alone
our place in shambles, result of gambles, but clearly we've all grown
Creak and groan, the timber cries out it's woe
Fastened together by nails, pitch and fray
Hurried forward under a steady blow
Through waves the bow breaks to violent spray
Trimmed to strike a rhythm with a tempo fierce
Among these turbulent tides we wrestle
With each rise and crash we make a knife's pierce
Through these crystal dunes she glides, our vessel