I hear the call–unheard but in

the desperate nights when lone, I grapple

mental fears and heart’s dismay–

the dark, sea-call–the roars of sounding

waves a thousand miles away–

and boats tossed up in sullen fury–

seaweed cold and clammy frond

and dead things washed ashore in endless

lines–and then I know that I

would go, must go, and fling, all careless,

me into the ceaseless waves–

must battle endlessly against the

tides–must strive against the wind

though I be dragged into the depths, though

hope alone should mark my end.

I hear the call, my dark, truth-sounding

destiny–and I would go

although all hell would stay my going–

heaven waits beyond these waves,

beyond my ken of mortal knowing.



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