Sonnet #8: Boat People

I watch the waves rush toward the pebbled shore
and think of pilgrims landing at Plymouth Rock,
of refugees and others who deplore
their native circumstances, and embark

in makeshift boats to cross uncharted waters
in search of lives less troubled, or more free;
risk drowning with their spouses, sons, and daughters
hoping they'll safely land in a new country,

knowing, as they leave, with every breath
that what they leave behind may well be life,
that vehicles of hope can prove ships of death,
and the only world they'll find is the afterlife.

I hate to think of the pain that drives them to it,
but deeply admire the courage they have to do it.