Sailing On the Ship of Fools

Drifting, spinning, turning, 

Fast then slow,

Moving unaware  

On a giant Ship of Life;

Failing to look into the portholes of infinite time, 

In the eternal breath of fast and slow, 

Movement of stepping,

Left-to-right, back-and-forth, over again-and-again, 

It is in the biology of self,

Sailing on the brief journey through one’s life

Where we are often standing still 

While all else keeps changing, 

Unnoticed except in pain and pleasure,

Of waiting for it to stop hurting 

And return to gratification’s sleep,

And return to control, 

After dinner’s fulfillment.

Watching “Wednesday” referencing 

What comes after in tomorrow,

To get away from yesterdays;

Remembering the different mood of the days and weeks,

Listening to each in its difference in routine’s existence,

With strange disruptions and distractions in work’s rhythm;

So different when unemployed and disconnected

From inertia’s identity and connection,

So when we look at the larger rhythms of seasons 

And their cycles of identity,

Finding differences in meeting

Depending on what the Ship is doing,

Sailing the sea without a rudder, 

Losing hold of one’s own rhythms, 

Tossing in the world of chaos and storms;

We are all disrupted in unpredictable directions,

On board not knowing what Saturday brings

Without the job of weeks to hold

Oneself in momentum’s grip,

Insecurity is born in uncertainty’s storm,

Momentum wanders into anxiety  

As the diner’s doubt is swallowed

In eviction’s rent,

Fear is the right response

As the ship of life is seen and felt

To be sinking,

Without the rhythms of labor’s week 

Confidence vanishes in the struggle of hardship days,

Where trust is lost in uncertainty’s storm,

Sailing on the ship of greed and fear

While hate confuses the captain’s mind, 

In his visions on the Sea of Life

Without the compass of purpose and meaning 

To steer his starving ship,

“Sail on! Sail on! Oh, Ship of Fools!”

In Destiny’s tale 

Where none can see the passenger’s fate

Through the fog of themselves;

Who knows what unemployed “Sunday” brings;

You can’t sail a ship without skills of mind and heart,

You will never know how to return to Port.