Poetry

Anchored

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Sun poured into summer blue beating down on us floating on the paddle boat. We couldn’t move. Cross currents from bigger boats entrapped us into a constant struggle. But we didn’t mind. Waves of happiness stirred up our laughter. If only every struggle could be this much fun. Usually in the midst of suffering we’d rather jump ship. Maybe it had something to do with the comfort of not being adrift alone; like how buoys rock in tune. We were floating together. Floating. Not struggling.

Sometimes to reach shore we just have to disintegrate like the salt mingling in the sea. But the tide tempts our reach surging us forward then dragging us back. We see the sun fading fast, orange like a life jacket drifting away. Struggling. Not floating.

Then the water becomes a cool escape enticing me to slip in. I know I can make it by swimming under the currents. But how can I leave my friends to paddle in my place? Why should I enjoy the escape and leave them entrapped? Struggling. Not floating.

Suddenly laughter awakens me from the lull of my dreams and I remember the joy of fellowship. Floating. Not struggling.

There are no tidal waves to capsize me that my fellow friends have not swallowed. We are not tossed beyond what our grated skin can bare, but shipwrecked to strengthen our sails. We all have the choice to sink or to tread. We are the creaking, pumping, bleeding veins of this vessel. Floating. Not struggling.

The waves may tear at our tongues, the sand sear our eyes, and the sun singe our skin; but the Anchor is not to snap. Just let go of the ropes. Throw our cargo of cares overboard. And just float. Not struggle.

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