Because the sea calls,
I must go;
push off from the safety
of land and hard sand,
into the rocking of waves and deep waters.
Hand me an oar,
I'll push off from the shore
and use it to keep
this precarious illusion afloat:
that I have any control at all;
that it is my own strength
that keeps me on course;
that I have a destination of value.
Wait, look, there -- is my paint chipping?
Must fix that,
can't go out today,
sorry.
* * *
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